All For One, And One For Love
by fleck.phantasma
Summary: After their plan to replace Louis with Philippe is foiled, the musketeers must regroup and find a way to save an innocent man from an undeserved fate. But now they have been found out by both Louis and D'Artagnan, and another person is soon to be added to the mix. Danger, discovery and family all play a key role in what happens from this point on, especially when she gets involved.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the very first story I've posted under this account, and it's quite the work in progress as my thoughts continue to develop. Please note that this is a work of pure fiction, using some of our favourite characters from this classic piece of literature, and that I do not want to see any flamers spamming the comments section. It's for pure enjoyment only, and because my brain would not stop with the "what if" scenarios after I watched the movie again. Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think, but be reasonable, okay? I've left the rating rather light for the time being, but depending on what thoughts come to mind, that could very well change in the future. So enjoy!**

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**Chapter I**

I'm coming with you."

Aramis couldn't help but roll his eyes a little, a groan of frustration sounding in his throat. The dangers that he was headed for were sure to bring about his death now that their plans of replacing Louis with Phillipe had failed so miserably. France was still in a dangerous place because of their king, and they themselves were now being hunted down by the musketeers for their efforts to restore peace and order to the country they loved so dearly. He had returned to his room only for a few things before he was to meet Athos and Porthos in their meeting room beneath the monastery the only safe place that remained for them. And in doing so, he had encountered the very person he had hoped to avoid because he knew that she would not willingly allow him to leave again without her presence. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, praying that God would forgive the lie as he shuffled through a drawer with his back still turned to the speaker.

"Do not lie to me, Papa. You may still look on me as a child, but you know well that I'm twenty, a woman," came the voice again, a little firmer this time. "And you know as well as I that I will be of use to you tonight where ever you go. Do you not think that the King has already sent people here to look for you?"

He turned rather sharply to look at her, finding that the distance between them was not as great as he had originally thought. Out of instinct, his hand reached out to gently touch her cheek. "You were not hurt?" The young woman shook her head, her loose curls moving gently around her face. "No, they did not harm me. I told them that I did not know anything of where you were, and that was the truth." He took only a moment to look over her before he turned back again, rummaging through another drawer all together. They had been saved for this exact moment, he thought to himself hurriedly as he threw things all over the room in an effort to locate them faster. So where on earth had he put them? Of all the things he could have possibly misplaced over the years since he had retired from the musketeers, why couldn't it have been something of less importance that he had lost? "I moved them, Papa."

Again Aramis spun around to look at her, his eyes a little wide in confusion. "I don't know what made me do it, but I moved them down to the crypt just before the King's men arrived. I knew I could not let them find them." The apologetic look on her face was quickly replaced with a look of surprise when the older man moved forward, gently kissing the top of her head with a bright grin of his own. "Clever girl," he praised softly. This must have been some heavenly sign, for her to have moved them so discreetly in the moment when he knew they would most be needed. And perhaps it was also a sign for something more. Katherine might not have been a daughter of his own making, but when the young girl had been left as a babe on the steps of monastery Aramis suddenly found himself unable to turn her away and leave her in a place where others like her would be taken. At one point, he had simply dismissed it as a weaker moment in his life where he had longed to have some kind of family of his own after his years of service to the musketeers. But as time had passed, the old man came to realize that there was another reason entirely for his keeping Katherine and raising her, although he had been a little saddened to learn that she had not wanted to become a nun and follow the same path that he had chosen for himself. Still, as he looked at the young woman before him, he knew what needed to be done. "You may come with me, but we must leave now before they decide to return and look again."

He knew that she didn't understand what was going on. He had been careful to make sure that she was not initially included in their plans, for fear of what might happen to her if they were to be caught. To bring about his own death was one thing, but to potentially bring harm to the thing he loved most dearly in this world was something that he could not allow. And yet as soon as he saw the look on her face, he knew that she had been planning something for a while now, meaning that she was perhaps the best prepared for the four of them. "Come, we must hurry." Taking a hold of her hand, Aramis quickly looked both ways down the corridor before he started to move, their footsteps soft against the stone floors. Clearly Katherine had thought to remove her shoes before she had come to see him, which was good for it would make their escape into the crypt much swifter that night. And indeed, it took them only a short while to descend the stairs and head for the secret passage way, where they were greeted by one of his Jesuit order. Katherine had seen the man before, and had never fully understood why there was a hooded figure who stepped from the shadows, watching for people who might approach the doorway. All she knew was that they had been nowhere else in the monastery except for there, and that none of them were quick to step into view unless her father was present. She quickly placed herself behind Aramis, who only waved the man away before moving on. There was much to explain to the poor girl, he knew, but now was not the time.

He turned them quickly into the room and bolted the door shut, pulling her along with him. "Papa, when are you going to tell me what...Uncle Athos!" Momentarily distracted by the presence of two others, Katherine let her thought drop as she hurried forward and into the open arms of yet another man, who hugged her tightly against him. Athos had found the girl to be quite the comfort to him after the death of his son, helping to fill a void he never thought could heal. It had been a combination of her and Phillipe that had made him feel almost like the man he had been when Raoul was still in his life, and while he was initially rather startled to see her with Aramis that night, he couldn't help but feel slightly comforted by her presence there when he knew that they were riding into certain doom. Still, he had to wonder why it was that she had been brought down there, especially when Aramis was all too aware of the number of soldiers and musketeers that were after their heads right now. "Are you alright?" she asked him, pulling back to look between him and Porthos with anxious eyes. "What's going on?"

"Katherine," came the soft voice of Aramis. "I'm afraid there is much that I need to tell you, but I do not have the time that I wish I did. A young man's life currently hangs in the balance right now, and we need to find a way to get him out of the Bastille." The Bastille? The name of the heavily fortified prison rang in her ears as she looked up at Athos, his face almost unmoving. She couldn't possibly have heard him correctly. The very idea of attempting to break into the Bastille and rescue one of its prisoners was absolutely absurd, not to mention incredibly dangerous for everyone involved. Her lips parted to ask him yet again what it was that he was hiding from her, but as she turned back in his direction she saw that his gaze was otherwise taken with a dagger that had been lodged into the back of the door, along with a few pieces of paper. "D'Artagnan," he muttered quietly, moving them all and offering the first note to Porthos. "It's a trap," declared Athos with a heavy sigh, "but we must go. We cannot leave Philippe to rot in that prison any longer." Porthos nodded his head in agreement. "Then to the Bastille we shall go."

Each step that Aramis took to cross before them sounded with a soft scrape, his boots against the loose stone flooring of the crypt. "Katherine, if you please." The girl straightened a little as she too crossed before them, moving to the opposite side of the room and the secret hiding place she had chosen in which to lay their old uniforms, black from the days of the old king. She reached out to brush the dust from them, fingering the insignia of the musketeers gently before she caught herself and instead hurried back over toward the three men. "I thought to save them so that we could wear them in one last battle before we died. And so we shall." At Aramis' words, Katherine stopped short of handing him his uniform. "Died?" she whispered, fear laced in her voice. "Papa..."

Despite his age, Aramis moved toward the girl with a gentle ease, helping to lower her lightly to the bench at the table before he knelt down beside her. That seemed to be the hard part, she noted, as his face contorted into a slight look of discomfort. His age really was beginning to creep up on him after so many years of active duty. "Kate," he began, using the pet name that they had adopted over the years. "The young man who we wish to rescue from the Bastille is the King's twin brother." Katherine gasped, a hand covering her mouth. "Louis shut Philippe away after he learned the truth from his father, thinking that Philippe knew who he was and would come to take his crown away. And with all of the pain that Louis has caused his people, we tried to replace him with Philippe to save France from entering a war with itself." The girl sat there in stunned silence, looking between the three men who now gathered around her without remorse on their faces. They had tried to remove the King? But wasn't that treason? And if they had failed, as it seemed they had done, what would Louis do to them now? That had to be the reason that the soldiers and musketeers had come barging into the monastery that night in search for them, for Louis was sure to want them dead now that they knew the truth and had tried to carry out his greatest fear.

And yet her heart ached a little for the man they spoke of. How horrible it must be to have been put into such a prison without knowing the real reason as to why you were thrown in there. She had no real love for the King, but she couldn't imagine that he was heartless enough to throw his own brother into the Bastille simply for being his brother. Though apparently he was, which angered Katherine more than she could possibly say. "Then we're running out of time," she said softly, brushing her hand against the cheek of the man who had raised her with such love and tenderness. "We can't leave the poor man there. He doesn't deserve to be in the Bastille." Aramis shook his head gravely. "No, he does not." "Aramis, we are going into untold dangers when we ride to the Bastille," reasoned Porthos, looking down at his friend from where he stood. "That is no place for a woman." Athos nodded his head. "We do not even know what we will be getting into. We cannot risk Katherine's life as well." But the young woman stood slowly, looking at the three of them with the same boldness in her bright blue eyes as they had seen countless other times in her youth. "I am the one risking my life, Uncle. You cannot have included me up to this point, telling me what you have without allowing me to continue on from here."

Uncertainty was clear in their faces as Aramis struggled slowly to his feet, aided by Katherine's steady hand for the last bit. "D'Artagnan is the captain of the King's musketeers, and he will know just as much as you, if not more. I might be able to serve as some kind of distraction to buy you more time if needed. And besides, he always _did_ like me." A coy smile lifted the corner of her lips, knowing that she was right. For whatever reason, D'Artagnan had taken quite an interest in her as she was growing up, always calling on Aramis to know how she was coming along in her growth and if there were complications of any kind. She had never understood why, but had gratefully accepted him as another Uncle, someone who cared for her just as his three friends did. For this above all things, she had always considered herself to be luckier than the King of France himself, who could no boast of such love even if he had the heart to try. "Please. Let me come with you."

Silence filled the room as the speaking seemed to come to an end, instead becoming more of a mental conversation shared between friends who had known one another for a great length of time. Her eyes moved back and forth between them as she searched for a sign, some kind of definite decision that would tell her where she stood in this new mess they had found themselves in. The fact that she was a woman was evident, and therefore a strike against her for wanting to accompany them on their mission. But considering that it was probably their biggest reason for her to remain where she was, they were taking quite a while to determine whether or not they would let her go. Finally, it was Athos who spoke. "She is younger than we are, and her being a woman might work to our advantage if the guards prove to be a challenge." Porthos was quick to nod his approval, his eyes immediately turning to Aramis, who seemed to be looking at Katherine with the same straight look he wore when he was finally at peace with himself. "Very well," came his gentle voice. "But you will have to wear something more appropriate."

A grin spread itself slowly across her face. "I have just the thing."


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter just kinda came to me, so I had to post it right away. Obviously since I'm writing this as a fan fiction I own none of the characters I'm currently writing about except for Katherine, the rest of them belong to the works of Alexandre Dumas. Please feel free to comment and review, but again, I don't want to deal with flamers.**

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"Open up, we have prisoners!"

The guard accepted the piece of parchment that was slipped through the small opening in the door and closed it almost as soon as he had taken it from Porthos' hand. In that second that they had, Aramis gently patted Athos on the shoulder in reassurance while Porthos adjusted the weight that he bore on his shoulders. They had taken only a few more moments back at the monestary to change their clothes and adjust the letter that D'Artagnan had attached to the door before they had left. After all, they couldn't show up with two prisoners for the Bastille if the letter would only permit the entrance of one. Not everyone was immediately meant to be taken to the Bastille, so the circumstances had to change slightly in order for them to throw off any kind of suspicion. Within moments the heavy door was swung aside and a guard was ushering them in, looking at the limp body that hung over Porthos' shoulder. "Take this down," the guard ordered as he handed Aramis the letter back. "The captain will deal with you shortly."

With the first part of their plan now behind them, they hurried off toward the staircase and immediately hid themselves from sight as they moved into the depths of the prison itself. But it was only when they were safely on the other side of the gate at the very bottom that they allowed their charade to be dropped, with Athos straightening himself and removing the blanket that hid his uniform from his shoulders while Katherine, now clad in boy's clothing, slid from her Uncle's strong shoulder and landed softly on the floor below. "We did it, we are in," Porthos declared happily, handing over a sword he had concealed on his person to Katherine for later use. "Of course we got in, it's a prison," Athos told his friend quickly, taking the hat that Aramis offered to him. "The trouble will come when we want to get out." They all looked up, shuffling off to either side of the staircase and behind the pillars as they heard footsteps approaching them. Guards hurried up the steps, not bothering to take in any of their surroundings before they moved up toward the courtyard, where a change of the guard was sure to be taking place. And just on time, the chimes of midnight sounded.

"You have to go now," Katherine told them quickly, her blue eyes hovering at the gate. "Go, find Philippe. He said we'd only have ten minutes." All three men looked to each other and then back at her, confused by her words. "Are you coming?" Athos asked, but the girl shook her head firmly. "We have no idea how many guards are around his cell. If I stay here, then at the very least I can warn you of impending dangers and hopefully buy you some time." At the look of worry that crossed their faces, the girl smiled brightly. "Do not worry for me. I learned from the best." The familiar sound of a drawn sword bounced around the hard stone room, her free hand resting on her hip in the very way she had been taught to hold her sword long ago. It was true, they thought silently. Katherine had taken lessons at her own insistence from the time that she was old enough to hold up a sword without falling over, and if trouble should happen upon her, she knew enough to keep herself alive, or at least put up a good fight. Despite her appearance in clothing, however, people would still be able to tell that she was a woman from the way in which she had styled her hair as well as the figure that lurked beneath the material of her shirt. If nothing else, they might be more hesitant to fight her. "Let's go."

All three men ran down the corridor, taking the directions that D'Artagnan had left them in the hopes that they would be able to handle whatever trap lay in wait for them. And yet, after having read the note that had been left in the door for them to find, the young woman was beginning to question the motives behind his desire to help. She had known D'Artagnan for as long as she could remember, having been a constant presence in her life since Aramis had first brought her into the monastery She knew him to be a dedicated and loyal man, someone who seemed to fear nothing as he raced head on into danger for king and country. So why did the life of one man make such a difference to him? Yes, he was the twin brother of the King, that she knew without having even laid eyes on him. But what was it that made D'Artagnan get involved in something so political when his only alliance had ever been to the reigning King of France? The entire situation made precious little sense to her as she stood there, listening intently for sounds of trouble that might be headed in her direction. Ten minutes was an awfully short time in which they could race through the bowels of the fortress prison and find a single prisoner. Would they be able to do it in time for them all to escape with their lives?

A drop of moisture hit the floor. A rat scurried across the straw of a cell while an inmate shifted to try and get away from it. The smell that had hit her when they arrived had almost knocked her over, so strong were the odours of rot and bodily fluids. While the people of Paris were discontented with their way of living right now, she could guarantee that none of them would want to be down here for long. There was no way for the rays of sunshine to leak into this dismal place, no way for the prisoners to look up at the sky and pray for some kind of miracle to befall them so they might not die alone and forgotten in their cells. Katherine had to wonder if there really was a crime that was bad enough for anyone to end up here for the rest of their miserable lives. The King thought there was, she thought bitterly as she looked around her in disgust. The King who was supposed to govern his people with a fair hand and good judgement, the very man who was supposed to be their leader in times of crisis thought there were punishments that warranted imprisonment in here. And worst of all, he had sentenced his own brother to dwell in such a place, merely for the fact that they shared a face and a parentage that neither of them could help. God forgive her, but she wanted nothing more than to reach out and slap this man for being such a heartless beast.

Suddenly her head turned back toward the very same corridor in which the three former musketeers had disappeared, her sword raised in preparation for trouble. The footsteps were hurried and drawing closer, which meant that it was either them returning with their imprisoned prince, or guards who had been alerted to their presence. Katherine adjusted her fingers around her sword, knees bent in preparation for whatever might round the corner within the next few seconds, whether it be friend or foe. She could handle herself, she knew that. With all of the training she had gotten from the four of them over her twenty years she was sure that she too could have been a musketeer, if not for the issue of her sex. Not that the others would ever allow it. Porthos and Athos maybe, but Aramis and D'Artagnan? Never.

Athos was the first to round the corner, instantly allowing Kate to relax a little and straighten as she glanced back at the staircase. "I get the feeling that we're not coming out the way we came in, so how exact-" She raised her sword again, eyes wide with fright as she spotted the figure that stood at the back of the group, an iron mask hiding his face from being properly seen. But Aramis was quick to jump in front of the point, guarding the young man from any pending attack. "No, Kate! This is Philippe." Her head snapped between Aramis and the others, finally coming to rest on the body that stood behind her guardian. He seemed just as uncertain of her presence as she did his, with his shoulders rounded and hunched forward a little as he attempted to drop his face from her gaze. But the mask wrapped itself all the way around his head and was hardly concealed by his evident shyness. "You will forgive me if I do not take the time to curtsey," she said slowly, dropping her sword again. "But I'm afraid that we are running out of..."

She stopped again, her ears trained on the coming sounds that emanated from the steps. In a flash she was pointing back toward the spots in the wall that they had hidden in before, pushing Athos and Porthos to the one side while she headed for the other, Aramis hot on her heels with Philippe in tow. With a raised finger to her lips she motioned for the others to remain silent, hiding herself behind the pillar just enough that she could see who it was that came down the stairs from the courtyard above. They were close, moving rather quickly against the steps. And the boots they wore on their feet were of a much harder material than her own, for she could hear the heavy tread that the others had brought with them when they had descended the steps initially. Thank goodness she didn't have a pair of boots like the ones they wore with their uniforms, or there was no possible way she could have been quiet in a place like there, where every sound echoed off of the walls. And as her bright blue eyes watched the staircase intently, she couldn't help but turn her head and glance over at the boy that had been rescued, the very one she was risking her life for. Was he truly the King's twin? It was impossible to tell with that mask on his face...

In that moment she realized that he was looking back at her as well, and the modest young woman in her immediately dropped her gaze and turned her head away, focusing on the task at hand. That was highly improper, she chastised herself silently, staring like that. And at the King's brother no less! What he must think of seeing her like this, a woman dressed like a man and carrying a sword as if she knew what she was getting into. But she _did_ know, came that quick reminder. And she had been the one who had wanted to come along and help, so there was nobody to blame but herself if something went wrong and she was hurt. Giving herself a mental shake, Kate turned her eyes back to the staircase in time to see a flash of black cloth and an insignia that was all too familiar to her eyes. But before she could say anything, Athos and Porthos were out of their hiding place with their swords trained at his throat, Aramis not too far behind. D'Artagnan, for his part, simply stopped in his tracks and looked around at them all as if he had been in a similar situation before. "You will not get out through the courtyard," he told them simply. "Men are assembling there as we speak."

"Do not trust him, it's a trap," Athos told the others as he pressed his sword a little more firmly against D'Artagnan's skin. "See for yourself." Unsure of what to do, Porthos headed up the stairs and took a look at the courtyard, leaving Kate and Philippe to remove themselves from their hiding place and come into view. This seemed to take the captain by surprise as he looked at the sorrow filled glance he got from the young woman before his eyes turned from her, coming to rest on the only other figure who did not threaten his life. "For all you have suffered, I would gladly have endured it myself to keep it from you," he murmured. And then he turned to Aramis. "You should not have brought her here. It's far too dangerous for her." A frown crossed her features as she sheathed her sword once more and folded her arms tightly over her chest. "I'm no longer a child, Uncle. That babe you carried on your shoulders during your visits with Papa does not exist anymore."

"D'Artagnan is right, the courtyard is filling with soldiers " Porthos said as he closed the gate behind him and joined the others. "This way." Always their fearless leader, D'Artagnan ignored the swords that were pointed at him and pushed on ahead, leading them down the corridors and around the corners that would otherwise have turned them completely around. All the way along, Kate caught glances at some of the other unfortunate souls that were locked away in their cages, her heart aching for those she saw in such a state of being. "You cannot save them all, Katherine," Aramis told her as he ran alongside her. "It is best that you focus on the good you are doing now." At that her eyes lifted a little, glancing up at the masked figure who ran just ahead of her. Yes, she was doing some good right now, wasn't she? More than she probably could have ever dreamed of doing while she spent her days working around the priests of the monestary, waiting somewhat impatiently for Papa to return from his visits with the King. But if she could not save them all, then she was determined to save the one person who might be the voice against their injustice.

As they continued to run down the corridor, their positions seemed to change only slightly. Katherine had taken notice of how close between Athos and D'Artagnan that Phillipe seemed to be, and so she remained close to him as well in case they should happen upon something unexpected. Porthos and Aramis brought up the rear of their group, though Katherine's wandering eyes were always glancing back at her father to ensure that he was close by. Only when they rounded the final corner and reached the door that stood at the very end did they regroup once again. "If we leave this way, they will know that you helped us," Aramis said quickly, looking at his old friend and the lock that he pulled aside. But D'Artagnan shook his head. "It doesn't matter now." With one swift movement they had pulled the door aside, showing the empty courtyard that would lead them toward the river and a chance at freedom. It was so close that Kate thought perhaps they might actually make it unscathed, turning herself around to the man who had pulled himself out of their way. "You must come with us," she told him quickly, reaching out to touch his arm. "If the King will know that you helped us free Philippe then your life is in danger. Uncle...please do not go back." The older man lifted his head a little to look down at her, meeting her eyes with the same intensity that his own blue ones held. "Alas_ ma petite,_ I cannot go with you. My duty is to my King."

The brunette shook her head, ignoring the wisps of hair that had fallen from her braid and now clung to the sides of her face. "He will have you killed if you go back. You heard Papa. The King will _know_ that you were part of this." Never before had Katherine spoken in such a way to her Uncle, whom she had come to love dearly for all of the attention he had paid her as a child and the kindness he had shown her. No one else aside from the four friends had paid the child any mind, seeing her as more of a bother, an interruption to their otherwise quiet lives. And yet in that moment, D'Artagnan came to understand just how much that child had grown up as he watched the fear radiate in her eyes, mixed heavily with the stubborn look that he knew all too well. His lips parted as if to answer, until the sound of approaching horses brought an abrupt end to their conversation and forced them all to turn their heads toward the archway. The King had found them, and had brought with him a large number of men who could easily handle the wagon of guns and ammunition that also accompanied him. "Fire!"

Without a second thought Katherine pulled herself away from D'Artagnan and quickly moved to the front of the group, shielding Philippe and the others as best as she could until they were all safely on the other side of the closed door. But the fight was sure to continue as they hurried back down the corridor toward a second door, rounding the corner to retrace some of their steps before they heard yet another attack coming from that side. The soldiers of the Bastille had noticed their newest prisoner to be missing from his cell and ran forward with swords drawn, yelling angrily before they found that door to be closed as well, held tightly against them by four older men who were determined to keep them at bay. Helpless for what to do, Katherine looked up as Philippe tapped her shoulder, nodding down to the beam of wood that lay on the ground. In an instant, they had picked it up and moved toward the door, using it to help barricade them inside the alcove. "We're trapped," Athos muttered, glancing back at the way they had intended to exit. But with soldiers on both sides of them, that didn't seem as likely to happen.

"Katherine, your side!" In their efforts to move safely back inside and search for another way of leaving, Katherine had not noticed the wound she had gotten from moving to protect Philippe. One of the bullets that had been fired seemed to have caught a part of her side, tearing open the skin and soaking the white material of her shirt with the tell-tale signs of blood. She quickly pressed a hand against it, shaking her head as she looked up at the others. "I'm fine, it's nothing." But Athos was quick to kneel at her side and lift the corner of the shirt, assessing the damage that had been done to her flesh. Aramis and the others were not far behind in their worry, eyes turning down to the gash that she had received for her efforts at being a protector. Philippe, for his part, looked away from the exposed skin around her middle. "We'll need to wrap it, to stop too much blood from being lost," he said, brushing his rough fingers along her side before she stepped just out of his reach. "I said I was all right," she said stubbornly, pulling at the edge of her shirt until a tear had formed. Thank goodness the silly thing was far too long for her body. "We'll just use this and I shall deal with it later." Katherine continued to pull along the bottom of her shirt until she had a solid strip of material in her hands, wrapping it firmly around the wound with a small grimace from how tightly it pressed into the skin. She allowed Athos to tie it off, holding the shirt a little higher so that he could see what he was doing before she dropped it, hiding her make-shift bandage from view though the stain of blood remained visible.

With that accomplished, Athos rose and drew his pistol, moving to the corner of the corridor that would make them visible to the enemy they had first attempted to avoid. The lock of that door would not hold them for long, and as Louis was not a patient King in terms of wanting results, he was sure that they would be upon them soon. The other three followed suit and filed in alongside him, aiming their pistols at the doorway in preparation. Philippe tried to follow, but was gently moved back to a safer place around the corner before he could step into view. And when Katherine made the effort to move forward, she was rewarded with a stern look from D'Artagnan. "Do not let them get to Philippe." Though annoyed at being removed so quickly from their battle, the girl nodded and drew her sword with her right hand while her left wrapped itself around her abdomen to apply pressure to her bandage. If anyone should get by them in an effort to harm Philippe, they would have to get through her first. "You have my word, Uncle."

The old man nodded in approval, snapping his head back to the door as the first bang sounded. It did not take long for them to throw the door open, running forward with raised swords as they prepared to fight for their King. All of them were musketeers, wearing the blue uniform that had replaced the black that they now opposed. And so it was to begin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Again I state that I own nothing and no one when it comes to the Musketeers, except for my lovely Katherine. I've had one review already and a few of your have started following this story, so I hope that more people will find it and share it with others. Constructive feedback is always welcome, guesses of what will happen next are fine as well. Please no flames though, especially since this is where I begin taking creative liberties with the storyline and the events of the movie. Why? Because the ending made me really sad and I'm a huge fan of Gabriel Bryne, need I say more?**

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**Chapter III**

"Spare their lives if you can."

The roar of musketeers sounded violently in the corridor as they rushed forward, swords drawn and seemingly unafraid of the guns pointed in their direction. In an instant, all four guns sounded as they fired toward the approaching threat, wounding the first few who dropped quickly to the cold hard ground beneath them. And as those guns became useless, they were thrown off to the side and swords were drawn to meet those that came forward from the musketeers, each one intent on doing harm to those who opposed the King for whom they fought. None seemed to pay much mind to the fact that their own captain stood among the rebel number, knowing only that they had been told to take down whomever stood in the way of Louis and what he wanted to gain. And for that fact, the King himself, clad in his decorative armour and golden clothing came into the back of the corridor nearest the exit, watching the blood bath begin.

With the advance of D'Artagnan and the others, Katherine moved from around the corner and stood with her sword tightly in her hand in preparation. As he had no way of defending himself, she was the only person who stood between Philippe and any would-be assassin who had been ordered by Louis to kill the masked man if given the chance. But from there, she was able to make her presence known to the King who stood so far away, her eyes filled with a fiery hatred that few had ever known her to possess. And it seemed that despite the distance between them, Louis was all too aware of the set of eyes that watched him with such contempt, as he turned his head and locked onto her for a moment before pointing in her direction. The noise of the fighting might have kept her from hearing what he said, but she was all too aware of the fact that he had now taken notice of her and that her life was in the same danger as everyone else's for being there that night. Fine, she thought. If that was how this must be, then let the King come for her. Katherine would defend herself, her father, uncles and Philippe with whatever breath remained in her body.

A war cry sounded just ahead of her as a man pushed through the fighting and came at her full force. In a second her sword was raised and clashing against his, immediately feeling the heavy weight of his bulk pressing down against her smaller frame. This was the only major disadvantage that Katherine had been forced to deal with all her life, the fact that she was normally smaller than her opponent, but that wasn't what would win the day. Seeing that his gaze was intently focused on her face with a menacing stare, Katherine seized the moment to shift her weight and draw one foot back, kicking him in the knee with all her might. The man quickly bent over as he combated the newfound pain and gave her a much clearer shot at driving the butt of her sword down on his skull, which instantly rendered the man unconscious. It was over in an instant as he slumped to the ground in a motionless state, but another was quick to take his place and this time backed Kate up against a wall. Damn, she thought, she hadn't been paying attention to anything else but the man who had previously attacked her, and another had slipped through their defences unnoticed. And though she had managed to raise her sword in time to meet his, this man was even bigger than the last.

Her back met the cold dampness of the Bastille wall as she grit her teeth in an effort to keep him as far away from her as possible without crying out at the pain she could feel burning in her side. Somewhere in the fighting, she heard one of the others call her name when they took notice of her plight, but there were too many musketeers for any of them to come to her aid without the risk of more coming forward for Philippe. "Surrender yourself!" he sneered at her, taking obvious notice of her sex as he glanced down at her hungrily. "The King will surely grant you a pardon and find you a more suitable position." The very idea of being anywhere near Louis made her stomach turn, the anger once again flashing in her eyes. "I'd rather die," she spat back at him, continuing to push in an effort to regain her freedom. But the man simply laughed at her as he pressed her even tighter to the wall, lowering his head toward her face. "That can be arranged."

Summoning the strength within her, Kate launched herself forward at the man and managed to catch him off-guard with her rage, tackling them both to the ground before he kicked her off of him. The brunette rolled to the side and reclaimed a handle on her sword in time to block a strike from the musketeer. She answered with a swipe of her own, beginning an exchange of blows that kept both of them moving and on their toes as they dodged and blocked each swift movement. Both were well trained, of this there was no doubt. Katherine was rather certain that they had been taught by the same teacher as well, which was not giving her the advantage she had been seeking originally when he had backed her against the wall. And yet she was sure that she had been taught a thing or two more than this man, for while he was supposed to fight honourably and consider his opponent at all times, Katherine had received slightly different instructions from the very beginning. With one hand back to holding her side she could feel the sweat dripping from her brow as whisps of her hair flew before her eyes. Her body ached rather terribly thanks to that gash she had gotten earlier, but she refused to lay down and accept defeat. That had never been her way.

"If you want me, then here I am," Kate offered darkly. "Come and get me." Seeing her tired state seemed to boost the musketeer's confidence just enough for him to lunge one last time, raising his sword to a dangerously high point that made it harder to defend any oncoming attack. This was her moment! Katherine too launched herself forward, rolling on the floor to keep her body at a lower point before she raised herself to one knee and thrust her sword forward, finally finding the connection that she needed. The look of shock that crossed his face was almost instantaneous, his eyes slowly dropping to the point of his body from which Kate's sword had entered so suddenly. And as soon as she removed it, he fell to his knees and slumped forward to breathe his last. She found no joy in taking his life as she forced herself back to her feet as quickly as she could manage, but she knew that God would forgive her. She would just need to go to confession later on.

Blue eyes looked around for signs of more impending danger, but found none as Aramis and the others all turned themselves around and hurried back around the corner to Philippe, Porthos grabbing her arm to lead her back as well. There they all seemed to fall back against the walls, breathing heavily from the fight. Only D'Artagnan, being the youngest of the four, seemed not to be winded. Katherine found herself bending forward slightly with grit teeth, taking but a moment to regain her senses before she straightened up and moved to stand by Aramis as she checked to see that he was alright. There were definitely signs of a battle on him now, from the little cuts on his face to the sweat that rolled down his cheek. But of the four men, only Athos shared the blood that now decorated the blade of her sword, which meant that there were probably several musketeers who had gotten up and moved back down the corridor to join their King. They were caught in the middle with nowhere to run.

Louis seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "D'Artagnan," he called, his voice echoing through the corridor. "I am not angry with you. I knew you would lead me to them and so you have." She could see the lines in his face harden at the implication of betrayal, his jaw clenching to prevent any escaping sound as he neared the corner of the wall and continued to listen. "Come back to us and you can retire quietly. I'll be kind to the young woman in your company, and I'll even give your friends a swift execution, if you surrender now!" Now it was Katherine's turn to be angered, remembering the words uttered by the man she had killed. How dare he mention her in his pitiful attempt to bargain with them! While Katherine had no desire to die that night, she certainly didn't want to be treated any differently from the rest as if they had coerced her into coming along with them. "Perhaps you should take his offer, D'Artagnan," Aramis said with a resigned sigh. "We're dead anyway." The old priest looked down at Katherine's surprised face with a small half-smile, sure to know what thoughts were running through her mind now that he had dared to utter those words. He lifted his free hand and gently stroked her hair as he had done so many times in the past, his eyes roaming her face as if he were trying to engrain her image into his mind. "There has to be a way, Papa," she replied in earnest, stepping forward to lay her head against his chest. "It cannot end like this."

Silence fell between them. There were no solutions to be offered, no alternative ways in which they could escape the situation they had placed themselves in. All that there was to do now was decide whether they should surrender quietly to Louis or attempt to renew the fight and hope that they would be killed swiftly before they could be tortured in the Bastille. "Maybe there is a way." All eyes turned to the masked man, who spoke for the very first time since coming across Katherine. "Bargain me to Louis for your lives," Philippe said, pressing his hands to his chest. But D'Artagnan shook his head. "No...NO," he said quickly with a raised hand as Philippe tried to protest. "Even if I could give up my King, I could never give up...my son."

In that single moment they all seemed to be at a loss for words. To utter such a thing was surely a treason even worse than the thought of replacing a king with his twin brother, and yet the captain of the musketeers had said it aloud for five others to witness. Athos and Porthos simply stared at D'Artagnan, while Aramis turned his head to look at Philippe, who stood there in such a state of shock that he momentarily feared the young man had gone catatonic. Katherine too found that her eyes rested on her uncle at his confession, but found that a part of her desired to break down and cry for the anguish she saw in his eyes. To have a son...two, for that matter, and never be allowed to acknowledge your kinship to them was a terrible thing to consider. "Your son?" Philippe breathed, reminding her that this was the very son he had known nothing about until only recently. "I loved your Mother. I love her still. You are my son." As the poor boy continued to digest the truth of his parentage, D'Artagnan turned himself and crossed a few steps toward Katherine, lifting his hands for her to place her own smaller ones in his. "And I'm afraid I must ask for your forgiveness, my dear...because I know the truth of your past as well."

Still in shock from the idea that her uncle was actually the father of the King, Katherine looked up with an almost stunned expression upon her face and nearly missed the meaning of his next words. "Of course you do," she said quickly, dropping her eyes a little. "I was left on the steps of the monastery where Papa found me and took me in." There was nothing romantic or treasonous about her story. It was simply a sad tale of a woman who could not provide for the child she had carried and decided to leave her somewhere in the hopes that a kind stranger might find her before she froze to death in the winter months. But D'Artagnan shook his head firmly and wrapped his fingers around her hands. "No, _ma petite_. You are not simply a child who was abandoned without love." He looked down at her now the same way he had looked upon her years ago, when she had been nothing more than a girl who was constantly underfoot and always looking for a new adventure to go on. Aramis had found her wild spirit endearing at times, though distracting when he was attempting to pray...and those had been the moments when D'Artagnan had stepped in to soothe the child for a short while so that Aramis could cleanse his soul for another day. That was all she had been, she thought sadly as she looked up at his pale blue eyes. A replacement for the fact that he could not love his own sons the way a father should.

The sounds of scuffling down the hallway caught their attention and D'Artagnan quickly backed himself up against the wall once more, pulling Katherine with him as he lay an arm protectively over her chest. The King was re-assembling his men, and this time it sounded as though they had more than swords at their sides. The dangers they were in grew with every moment they stood there without a plan, hearing the slamming against the door they had previously barricaded begin to sound. The guards of the Bastille were attempting to remove the door from its hinges entirely, and that meant that they were running out of time at a much faster rate than they had thought. If ever there was a need for a plan of action, this was that time.

"D'Artagnan," Aramis began slowly. "These musketeers are young, and they've been weaned on our legends. That might be our advantage!" Porthos stepped forward, the wheels of his own mind beginning to turn. "Yes, why don't we charge them?" But the captain would have none of it and shook his head. "I trained these men. They will fight to the death." Sensing there to be tension once again lingering over their heads as they stumbled around for a way out, Katherine looked up at her uncle and gently placed a hand on his arm. "If we stay here for too much longer without doing anything, we'll die anyway." Charging them was not exactly what she had in mind when it came to a valiant effort of escaping, but it was the only solution that had been offered up for them to consider. A sigh fell from D'Artagnan's lips as he looked down at the young woman, his eyes filled with a sadness that she had come to know in him only recently...and only now began to understand fully. "Then if we must die...if _we_ must die...let it be like this." In two powerful strides he had moved to the vacant space between them all, holding his sword out before him with the point down in the ground. It took but a moment before Aramis and Porthos did the same, crossing the blades of their swords with his. Athos followed a moment later as he added his blood stained companion to the mix.

Seeing them all together like this, working and trusting as they were sure to have done in the past, made Katherine feel a great swell of pride in her chest. While none of them were as young as they had once been, she knew that this was how so many of their adventures would have begun as they rode off on their next mission together. Their friendship had been tested in the most extreme sense as each of them battled personal demons and questions of loyalty, but it was plain to her eyes that in the face of death, they were able to come together as friends. As family. Part of her wished that she had been present to see them in their glory days, dashing young musketeers who were quick with their swords and tongues as they served their country and protected their King from harm. For now that they stood there so closely, she could only begin to know what they had been like before all of this madness had come to pass.

The young woman stepped forward herself, coming to a place between Athos and D'Artagnan, which earned her a sharp look from Aramis. "No, Katherine." But she refused to back down on this one, holding her sword tightly in her hand. "I've come this far. And I will not stand by to grieve a loss while the rest of you rush toward death." For a brief moment, the pair locked eyes and silently stood in an attempt to see which would break down first. Ultimately, Aramis gave a resigned sigh and nodded his consent, watching his daughter place her sword against the rest as he swallowed the fact that she truly was no longer a child. Slow footsteps could be heard from behind, causing Katherine to turn around just in time to see Philippe advance with a blade of his own, one that he had acquired from the man that Katherine had killed. No words were spoken as he brought himself up beside her and turned to look at the man who had called him his son only moments ago, though it was nearly impossible to read the expressions on his face because of the mask that he wore. But even D'Artagnan seemed prepared to accept that his child had grown beyond his childhood years, nodding his consent the same way that her own father had and watching as their group was completed. "All for one, one for all," Katherine told them.

A moment of silence passed between them as they absorbed the weight of the motto that had been used by the musketeers for centuries, each one pulling back slightly and holding their sword in front of them in preparation. Louis would not see the charge coming, and that was their greatest advantage at this point. With a fearsome roar, D'Artagnan was the first to take off running for the corner, followed closely by the others who also took up the war cry with swords raised high above their heads. For a moment, all they could hear were their own voices echoing off the walls of the Bastille, running almost in a state of slow motion before the guns finally began to fire. It somehow seemed delayed to them as they ran, feeling some of the bullets graze their uniforms and hit the ground beneath their feet. But was it? Had the musketeers fired upon them as soon as Louis had ordered, or had there actually been a delay in carrying out his orders because they had been taken by surprise by the sudden rush of courage that overwhelmed them? None of them really knew as they ducked from the bullets, their pace not slowing until at last the final gun had sounded and the smoke billowed from the ends of the pistols. Everything around them feel deathly quiet as they waited for the outcome, each hobbling forward through the smoke until they were mere feet away from the much larger group of men.

Swords were held at the ready, prepared for the fighting to begin again, but it never came. D'Artagnan's second in command, a man they knew to be Andre, rose to his feet and saluted them with his sword, holding the hilt over his heart. And one by one, all of the other men rose and did the same, showing their respect to those who had braved death and chosen to continue the fighting on their own terms but still within the honorary code that they all seemed to follow. It could almost be described as a sense of ease that overtook them all, removing the immediate feeling of danger even when the King pushed his way to the very front of his men and eyed them all with contempt. Then suddenly he launched himself toward Philippe, a dagger raised in his hand. Between D'Artagnan and Philippe they managed to push him back against one of the walls and away from his target, but Louis was not ready to give in. With a vicious scream he threw himself forward again and aimed for his brother's heart...instead plunging the dagger straight into D'Artagnan's back.

Katherine couldn't be sure that the scream had come from her lips as she dropped her sword and her eyes widened in terror, watching the scene unfold before she truly understood what had happened. Philippe now threw himself onto Louis, pinning him to the wall as his hands struggled to find his throat and squeeze tightly. Athos had run forward to take hold of D'Artagnan's quivering form and pulled him a short distance before he had been forced to the ground under the strain, the others surrounding him immediately. Breathing heavily she moved to kneel on the opposite side of his body, watching his chest rise and fall in an unsteady and dangerous rhythm. "Philippe! Philippe!" Even in his wounded state, D'Artagnan was still attempting to take charge of the situation. "He is your brother." The reminder was all that the masked man required to abandon his efforts at killing his twin in rage as he too moved over to the fallen hero, taking the much more intimate place of kneeling before his father. His hands flew to the mask he wore, tugging at the lock and metal caging. "Get this thing off me," he screamed, struggling with the mask as he tried his best to claw it away.

Aramis moved toward the King, who still lay on the ground, and ripped the chain roughly from around his neck before he hurried back to Philippe and unlocked the mask that hid his face. In the instant it came off, Katherine turned her head and was stricken by the physical resemblance between the two brothers, who couldn't have been more different than the sun and moon if they tried. "This is the death I have always wanted," breathed the old man, looking at his son with an almost distant look in his eyes. Katherine swallowed. "You will not die, Uncle," she said firmly as the emotions built in her throat. "I cannot let you." He attempted a soothing sound and reached for one of her hands, closing his eyes as his breathing became even more unsteady and rapid, but she would have none of it. The years that she had spent in the monastery meant that young Katherine had seen a great many things that most others had not. She had dealt with the sick and the hungry, helped those who suffered from unknown ailments and assisted in the delivery of children. And now that there was another patient before her, someone she dearly loved with every fibre of her being, she was not going to fail in her task. "I will save you," she whispered against his ear, leaning forward to kiss his forehead gently. "I promise." At those last words, she cast a sideways glance at Philippe, allowing their eyes to meet for only a moment before she turned back to Andre and began barking orders of how he was to help her and what she needed in order to return him to the monastery where she could properly care for him.

Four other musketeers were ushered back inside and ordered to gently pick their captain up from the ground, freeing Athos and the others to deal with the King and Philippe as well as the guards who were still hammering away at the door on the other end of the corridor. Her own heart was beating viciously as she watched the old man wince in pain at being moved, quickly screaming for them to be careful with him. They all seemed a little uncertain about taking orders from a woman, but seemed intent on getting D'Artagnan through the door and to a wagon without further issue. She made to follow, anxious to get him back before he could take a turn for the worst when she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to see the bright eyes of Philippe looking at her. "Please do what you can," he begged her gently. "I have only just found him. I do not wish to lose him so quickly." Unsure of what to do as she felt his hand linger on her shoulder, Katherine dropped her eyes and gave him a wordless curtsey. She was sure it probably looked a little strange, since she was not in her customary skirts, but it was the best she could do in this situation. And as she rose to her feet once more, she turned as quickly as she could without establishing eye contact and dashed out the door to accompany D'Artagnan's ailing body back to the monastery Philippe watched her go, curious of her reactions and afraid for his father's life before a voice caused him to turn around and look down at his brother once more.

"You may very well have killed the man who attempted to keep you on your throne," Athos hissed down at Louis. "But this time, you will not be so lucky."


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, here's the fourth chapter. I haven't heard from anyone about what they think in terms of how this is progressing, and I'm sure this is the point in time when people will start getting upset that I'm playing around with the outcome and all...but that's the wonderful thing about writing fan fiction, right? So if anyone would like to review this story, or share it with their friends, I'm always interested in what people have to say.**

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**Chapter IV**

"Put him there."

Despite the late hour of the night they had come crashing into the monastery with their fallen captain suspended between the four of them they were creating far more noise than was really necessary, but Katherine wasn't in the frame of mind to care right then. His face had grown pale as the blood continued to stain every inch of clothing that she pressed against the wound, including the legs of her pants from when she had propped him up against her in the wagon. The material now clung to her thighs rather tightly to show the leaner frame that lay beneath the boyish attire, the sleeves of her shirt having been ripped off ages ago to sop up even more blood as they hit bumps and holes in the roads.

The musketeers were quick to place him on the cot that she had pointed to, stepping back as soon as he was safely on the material to give the girl as much room as she needed in order to administer to his wound. Louis had plunged it rather deeply, the bastard, causing so much damage that Katherine was beginning to panic that she might in fact lose him before the others could return to his side. But she couldn't see anything with the amount of clothing he wore, especially with it being buried so deeply beneath the old uniform. It broke her heart, knowing what she would need to do next, and she prayed that he would one day be able to forgive her. Given the choice, she would find another way...but time was running precariously short and she could no longer afford to waste any more of it. Lifting with all of her might, the brunette shifted the musketeer till he lay almost on his stomach and seized a dagger of her own to rip at the material of his uniform until it had fallen away to reveal the stained white shirt beneath it. She made quick work of that as well so that all she could see was the skin of his back and the mark of the dagger.

"I need hot water," she said, turning her head to call back at one of the waiting musketeers. "Hot water and fresh bandages...and a needle." She heard a pair of boots shifting against the flagstone floor and returned her attention to D'Artagnan, who now seemed to be barely breathing at all. As the walls around her heart began to clench tightly, she prayed that she would be able to keep her promise to Philippe and save the life of the man they both loved, for she too had come to think of him as a father figure in addition to those provided by Aramis and the others. It was simply a name when she called him "uncle," not a distinction of how she felt about him. And the very idea of losing such a dominant figure in her life was simply terrifying to the girl, who had known no love aside from what those four men had given her. But now was not the time for sentimental thought. She had a job to do.

The young woman rose from her knees and hurried to the far side of the room to grab a hold of a candlestick, bringing it closer to the side of the cot so that she could properly see what it was that she needed to do. Blood was still pooling around the skin on the outside, but at a much slower rate than before, which made the girl worry that perhaps the time to save him had come and gone before she had realized it. Footsteps told her that the musketeer had returned with the things that she needed, accompanied by two of the priests that he had woken in his haste to do as she asked of him. It took only a moment for the priests to assess the situation before they too hurried forward and knelt down by the side of the bed, having taken the things that the musketeer had brought in. "Stand guard outside," Katherine told him, signalling to the large oak doors. "We'll do the best we can, but we cannot have you hovering." None of them seemed certain that leaving their captain in the hands of strangers was a wise idea, and so they hesitated and looked between one another for some kind of direction. Only when they saw the look on Katherine's face, half shadowed because of the late hour, did they finally move outside the door and close it tightly behind them. With the needle in her hands, she held it lightly in her fingers and ran the point back and forth in the flame of the candle.

Exhausted from their efforts, the priests had cleaned up the area around the cot on which D'Artagnan lay and returned to their private chambers, leaving Katherine alone to sit in her bloodied clothes by his side. They had propped him up off of his shoulder as much as they could with the resources they had and proceeded to say a prayer over his broken form from which Katherine did not rise. She remained on her knees by his bedside, eyes tightly closed with her hands wrapped firmly around one of his larger ones as her mind continued to plead with God for his life. They had done everything they could possibly do for him at this point from an earthly level, and now all that remained was to pray that he would be permitted to continue living. It was all in God's hands at this point, and it would be at His mercy that D'Artagnan would wake to live another day and guide those who had looked up to him for so long. But for the time being, the girl was determined that she might be able to beg for his soul, willing to remain there as long as necessary until D'Artagnan awoke.

"Please," she begged softly, lifting her head and opening her eyes to look at her uncle as she pressed his cool hand to her cheek. "Please wake up. Do not think to leave us now...not when we need you so." There was no response from him, nor did she expect there to be. A good deal of his blood had been spilled when Louis had plunged the dagger meant for Philippe into his back, and much of it had dried into the tattered clothing that she now wore as she forced her body to remain in a prayer position against the cold floor. Still, she felt it was cruel for Philippe to have finally found someone who loved him after so many years of imprisonment and loneliness to be faced with the prospect of losing them so soon. While Louis had grown up with his parents, knowing exactly what he was to become as servants came to him on bended knee, Philippe had known none of that. The chances of him even being told of his true parentage were rather slim, especially once Louis had inherited his crown from his father. But to learn that his father was not even the previous king...how much of a blow had that truly been?

Katherine closed her eyes again and gently lowered her head, allowing it to rest against the hand that she held so gingerly in her own two smaller ones. She could understand the pain of never knowing who you really were or where you came from better than most other people could. The feeling of being abandoned for death as a child was something she could not shake, even now that she was twenty and had been fortunate enough to live a comfortable life within the monastery walls. Had he been so lucky? She could not imagine that his entire life had been spent behind the walls of the Bastille, and so wondered how he had been raised until the time that he had been first forced into that mask. The very thought of that terrible thing gave the girl shivers as she remembered the shock she had felt when first she saw him round the corner behind her father and the others, afraid that he was one who had followed them in their attempt to save the king's twin from a lifetime of imprisonment. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that the man behind that monstrosity was in fact the very man they were saving.

So lost in thought was the young woman as she knelt beside D'Artagnan's unconscious form that she did not take any notice of the passage of time. The darkness outside was slowly beginning to give way to light as the dawn approached them, the candles burning down to mere stubs within their holders. Only when she felt a hand placed on her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin did she come to recognize that she had not moved for a great deal of time. Athos looked down at her with concerned eyes. "You need to go and rest now, Katherine," he told her gently. "There is nothing more you can do for him." She did not immediately move, but turned her head slowly to look back at her uncle and the tiny movements that came from his chest to tell her that he was still clinging to life. "What if I was too late to save him?" The question hung in the air for a few moments as Athos watched her, noting that her eyes had begun to well with tears, a rather strange sight for young Katherine who had always been so tough in the face of hardship and tragedy. But this one was much closer to her heart than any incident she had dealt with before, he realized, and so it would affect her much more than he had originally thought. "You will have done all that you could," Athos murmured gently, placing his hand under her elbow to help ease her aching body off of the floor. "But you know that he would never forgive you for spending so much time in worry for his sake."

A soft flutter of laughter passed from her lips as she blinked, the tears falling slowly down her cheeks. There was truth in his words, for D'Artagnan would surely chastise her for spending much of her time worrying about his well being when he insisted that it was his job to worry about her. That was simply one of the many things he had told her over the years as the little girl grew up to ask him about what he did for the King and if his life was ever in danger. He had told her quite a few things in order to ease her mind until she was old enough to handle the truth of his job, and at that time she had begun longing for the day when she could join the ranks of the musketeers herself. But alas, as a woman, he had said that there would never come a time when that would be permitted. Serving the King in such a manner was no place for a woman, who was regarded as being less than a man and merely a piece of property to be traded and sold at will. "Nor can I forgive myself if I should have failed him in his hour of need."

Looking upon her with a saddened gaze, Athos drew the girl to his chest and hugged her tightly against him, stroking her knotted hair gently as she sobbed softly against the material of his uniform. Despite the rift that had grown between himself and D'Artagnan over the King's involvement in Raoul's death, Athos had learned quite a bit about his friend in that short time that they had fought side by side. And now that he had come to know the truth, his own heart ached much in the way that Katherine's appeared to, feeling that there was a chance he may never get to tell D'Artagnan just how sorry he was for all that he had endured.

Suddenly the girl drew herself back from Athos, startled and afraid of what she might have missed in the time that she had left the Bastille. "Papa? Porthos?" She dared not breathe Philippe's name, for she knew nothing of the boy and was too far beneath him to even consider uttering his name aloud. Athos gently stroked her cheek, removing some of her tears. "They are both safe. We have taken care of the King...and he can no longer harm anyone." His words felt almost cryptic, confusing the girl even further as she looked up at him with puffy eyes. Was that supposed to mean that Louis had suddenly turned himself completely around? No, that was as likely to happen as Katherine becoming the Queen of France. If anything, it sounded as though Louis and Philippe had finally been set in their rightful places, and so it would be Louis who would scream for an eternity in that hell, locked away from the world and void of the material things he had come to enjoy so much. Now her mind turned to the very reason she still stood in that room, practically supported by Athos as her body slowly began to give way on her. "I promised I would save him." The older man nodded, kissing her forehead gently. "You have done all that you can," he repeated to her as he adjusted his hold on her body. "And now it is time to do what you can for yourself. You must rest."

Lacking the energy required to try and defy him, Katherine merely nodded slowly and straightened her knees beneath her. Her skin pulled tightly as she moved, the blood having dried both her skin and the material of her clothing together, and so that was the first thing she would need to take care of. Yes, she would go and rest as she had been ordered to do...but perhaps not in the way that they would like for her to go about it. While she had vocalized her fear of losing him after the efforts of trying to save his life, she had not said that she was afraid of what might happen in her absence. Someone needed to watch over him, to make sure that there was still some kind of life in his body. Katherine pulled herself slowly away from Athos and turned toward the door, a hand immediately flying to her side as she grit her teeth against the stabbing pain she was now experiencing. "You did not take care of that, did you?" Closing her eyes, the girl wordlessly shook her head but dared not turn around to look at her uncle. "Go clean yourself up. Come back here when you have finished and I will dress it for you."

A slow breath left her lips as Katherine held tightly to her side and continued out the door, passing the musketeers who continued to stand guard and heading for her own quarters within the monastery walls. It was a small room, as those who lived their lives here normally did not require too many material things, but as Katherine was the only woman, they had permitted her to have a few more items than one might normally see. Her bed was tucked neatly in the corner of the room beside a window, still closed against the cool air from where she had left it the night before. On the desk on the opposite side sat a candlestick, a brush and a small mirror that they had given her as a gift for her eighteenth birthday. Various pieces of parchment and quills sat on the top of the desk as well, placed in the upper right hand corner in a rather tidy manner. On the small table beside that sat her bowl, towel and jug of water, the very things that she went immediately to as she moved slowly into the room.

Her clothes would need to be washed, though she doubted that anyone would be able to get that much blood out of them entirely. Stripping them off was the painful part, as she had to stretch her side in order to pull the remains of her shirt away, while bending over to remove her shoes, socks and pants. A few more steps forward took her right to the table and the waiting sponge that lay in the bottom of the bowl. The water that she poured from the jug was colder than normal at having been left out all night without a fire to warm it, and so the girl shivered slightly as she took the sponge in her hand and began to dab at her aching body with it. Beads of water rolled down her body as she pressed against her collarbone and neck, removing all of the dirt and sweat from her skin. The Bastille was a filthy place, she thought to herself as she slowly sponged her body to a cleaner state of being. It hadn't taken long for traces of it to attach themselves to her and cling viciously to her clothing and flesh, yet another reason for her to be terrified for D'Artagnan's life.

The makeshift bandage was still tightly wrapped around her side and crusted with her blood, but Katherine did her best to ignore it for the time being. While she could handle the chaos that came with bloodshed and injuries, she wanted to wait until Athos had taken a look at it so that he could assess the damage that had been done to her. His eyes would be a little more careful than her own, seeing things from a better angle and hopefully cleaning it much more thoroughly. Content with the fact that she had washed herself as well as she could for the time being, Katherine moved slowly to the tiny chest of drawers that sat at the foot of the bed and pulled one aside to reveal the normal clothing that she wore as a woman. In minutes she had dressed herself again, wearing a simple shirt and skirt that would allow her to move and Athos to address the issue of her battle scar. The brown material itched her side slightly before she tucked the gentler fabric of her shirt into the waist, slipping her feet into a small pair of leather shoes. All that remained was for her to attempt something a little more appropriate with her hair, which was now a tangled mess from the evening's adventures...

A short while later she reappeared in the infirmary room, noting that Aramis and Porthos had also returned in the time that she had been gone. The three of them stood close together and muttered in hushed tones, so low that Katherine could not make out any of their words as she entered. Porthos first took notice of her and moved away from their group, causing the other two to bring their eyes up to look at her with the same concerned glances she had seen on them earlier that night. "You look at me as if you think I am a ghost, Papa," she said in a weak attempt at humour. "What happened after I left you?" Porthos gently wrapped an arm around her back and lead her forward to another cot in the room, gently prompting her to sit on the edge as Athos knelt down beside her and pulled her clothes away to deal with the bloody bandage on her side. She leaned her body away, stretching the skin with a bit of a wince as he began to untie the knot that she had used to keep the cloth in place. He was being as gentle as possible, she knew that, but the bandage would not remove easily, for the blood that had dried to it would also have dried to her skin and thus made them one. "Louis and Philippe have both been put in their rightful places," Aramis said gently as he moved across the room to bring a bowl of water to Athos.

"Meaning that Louis is now in the Bastille?" she whispered, clenching her teeth a little as the tugging began. Aramis nodded silently. "The King is back in the palace and a cover story is being created as we speak. I need to ride to the palace tonight and speak with him and his mother." A thought struck her. If D'Artagnan was indeed the man who fathered both Louis and Philippe, that meant that Queen Anne was still their mother...the two had been lovers. It was a scandalous thing to know about your uncle, that he, who was entirely devoted and loyal to his country and his King, had allowed himself to perform one of the most treasonous acts possible by falling in love with the Queen. And it wasn't merely feelings that he had experienced with her, but the two of them had actually established a relationship that went above and beyond Queen and musketeer. Katherine wasn't certain of how she felt about that, but could not condemn either of them for falling in love. In truth, it was said that the old King had paid precious little attention to his bride when she had first arrived from Austria and had taken a few lovers of his own over the years. Apparently, not all of them had been women either...but that in itself was merely a rumour that could never be proven or disproven now that he lay in his grave. And since Louis and Philippe were the only known children ever to come from the old King, that made them the sole heirs to the throne.

Though she supposed that they were not truly his sons after all.

Aramis sat himself on the far end of the cot and gently nudged Katherine's body until she lay on the opposite side, her head resting in her father's lap as her eyes continued to look over at D'Artagnan's motionless body. None of them had yet changed out of their old uniforms, she noticed, which meant that sleep was not in the cards for them either. She flinched as Athos began pressing against the gash on her side, closing her eyes tightly while Aramis began to gently stroke her hair and cheek in an effort to soothe her. "What are you going to tell them?" she wondered aloud, breathing slowly as she did. Aramis thought for a moment. "I'm not sure yet. I need to tell them that D'Artagnan is still alive...for now. And we must discuss what is to be done with the prisoner in the Bastille." Even now that they were safe within the walls of the monastery and no longer being hunted by the musketeers, Aramis knew it was not entirely safe to discuss the fact that Louis was the prisoner of which he spoke. They needed to secure Philippe to his new position of power and begin teaching him the very things that Louis had known for years. Their task was not going to be an easy one, but it had been the very thing they had vowed to undertake when they had initially planned to swap the twins around. "I do not believe that the Queen will allow him to remain there for too long."

"He deserves to stay there," she said through grit teeth, anger burning in her stomach again. "For what he's done to his people, and to D'Artagnan." "Hush," Aramis ordered gently as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Now is not the time for you to waste your energy on such feelings. You were wounded at the Bastille, and now you need to rest." His hand continued to move gently over her cheek as he soothed her anger, watching as her eyes grew heavy and began to close. "I cannot leave him," she whispered, dozing off a little despite herself. The old man couldn't help but smile, glancing over to where his friend was nearly finished dressing her wound. "I shall not move you, and when you wake, you may stay with him. He would feel safe in your hands." The thought brought a small smile to her lips as Katherine finally allowed her head to drop and her mind to fade away from the events of the evening, bringing her into a darkness that was comforting and welcome to her exhausted body. With her breathing finally growing even, Aramis gently slipped himself out from beneath her and waited for Athos to pull the side of her shirt down again before he covered her smaller body with a blanket.

"I do not know what we have ever done to deserve her," the priest whispered softly with a glance upward at his two friends. "But if anyone can bring him back from the brink of death-" "It will be our Kate," Porthos finished with a smile of his own. Athos nodded his agreement, looking down at her for a brief moment before he turned away. "If we must go to the King...we should perhaps rest for a while and make ourselves look presentable." A chuckle sounded from Aramis as he reached forward to clap his friend on the back and headed for the door, not wanting to disturb the peace that had taken over the room. Yes, if anyone could help perform a miracle, it was their Kate.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! After a few days of being unable to log into my account for whatever reason, I'm finally back and ready to post another chapter. The formatting will change a little this time around as I take a comment into account and try separating things the way I used to before people initially complained, so bare with me just in case. More details and feels will hopefully be explored during this chapter. Don't worry, I won't forget to share the background I'm working on for Katherine...it's a timing thing, you know? Further reviews are always welcome. **

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**Chapter V**

"You cannot leave us now."

It was late afternoon when Katherine had finally risen from her cot to find herself covered in a blanket and alone with D'Artagnan in the infirmary, none of them others in sight. She'd risen gingerly from her place and tucked the corner of her shirt back into the top of her skirt before she folded the blanket and began moving about again, this time with a little more ease than she had felt the previous night. His bandages had been removed and his wound cleaned before she had dressed it again and resumed her place by his side. This time however, she sat on the very edge of the cot and held his hand in her lap, finding that her knees did not wish to lower her much further after the time she had spent praying already. Instead she simply sat there, brushing her thumbs over the back of his hand as her blue orbs looked at him sadly. Still he had not stirred, though the signs of life in his chest remained, and Katherine was beginning to worry that he might never wake.

"Papa and the others still need you," she murmured softly. "Philippe still needs you. How can you expect him to be King without you there to guide him?"

And what about me, she added as an afterthought. There was still so much that he could teach her, so much for him to explain about his way of life and how things looked from his view of the world. His stories had never failed to fascinate her as she grew and allowed herself to consider the possibilities of the future. And despite her foolish dream of one day serving as a musketeer to the King, he had always been supportive of her desire to do something meaningful with her life, knowing as well as she did that she was not meant for the quiet life that her father chose to lead within the walls of the monastery. Her spirit was far too wild for such a place.

Pressing her lips briefly against the back of his hand, Katherine straightened again and looked at his pale features, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his cheek. "Sometimes I think you are a fool to be as devoted as you are," she admitted, touching his brow. "You spent the whole of your life wanting to be a musketeer...only to be harmed by the one you intended to protect with your life when you took your oath."

His skin felt cool against her hand despite the warmth of the room and the heavy blankets she had piled onto him in an effort to retain any heat from his body. But he was still breathing, which was enough of a miracle alone for the girl to send her thanks upward in silent meditation. As she cradled his hand in her own, gently squeezing his fingers from time to time, Katherine couldn't help but allow her mind to wander back to the events of the night before, trying to piece together what exactly had happened to them all. It felt almost like a dream now, something she had experienced in another lifetime or place that didn't seem all together real. They had been hunted down by the King of France, who attempted to murder his own brother in cold blood before the man who had saved his life repeatedly in the past had become the target of his dagger. Even now, she could still see it as if it were happening at a much slower pace, leaving her absolutely helpless to have stopped it.

Her eyes shot up as she heard someone approach the door of the infirmary, heavy boots sounding their arrival as the oak door was pushed aside to reveal her father's form with his hat in hand. "Katherine, I need you to step outside with me for a moment."

The tone of voice that he used was rather even, but almost commanding at the same time, which gave Katherine reason to pause and raise a brow. "I will not leave him, Papa."

The old musketeer stared at his daughter for a moment before giving a resigned sigh and moving further into the room, approaching the cot on which both of his loved ones rested. He held his hat formally in his hands, something she noticed right away but did not yet question. There was a reason for his wanting to remove her from the room, and while she was not pleased with his feeble attempt, she could not ignore his order completely.

"The King has summoned you to the palace. He and the Queen wish to conference with us, and it was requested that you also be in attendance."

Her mouth fell agape as she looked up at Aramis with an expression of shock and confusion, breathing a heavy sigh before she shook her head. "You must have heard incorrectly, Papa," said the young girl swiftly, her grasp tightening around D'Artagnan's hand a little. "I am no one. There is no reason for the King to want to see me because I have done nothing to warrant his attention."

But underneath it all, her heart began to pound a little. If Louis had truly been replaced by Philippe, then what could he possibly want with her? Katherine was nothing more than a common girl who had stubbornly refused to let her father and uncles ride off into death and leave her alone in the world. She had been of no help in his rescue, save for the slaughter of one man who might have attempted to take his life, and then fled with the broken body of his father in the middle of the night.

"I am not yet so old that I cannot hear when my King commands me," came Aramis' steady reply, grasping his wrist with his free hand as he leaned back into his stance. "We are to be there in the morning." He could see the desire to defy the King's orders in her eyes as she sat beside his friend, but he knew that she would never dare refuse aloud. Despite his initial desire for her to remain a quiet member of the monastery Aramis was all too aware of the fact that Katherine wanted to be a musketeer to protect her King and country the way that he and the others had done in their youth. And while the issue of her gender made it impossible for that to occur, there was still a fiery spirit in her that chose not to accept this as her fate just yet.

"Go..."

The whisper of a single word caused a gasp to pass through her lips and the girl to fall from the side of the cot to her knees on the floor, pressing her body as close to him as she could get. His fingers tightened a little around her hand as he turned his head, evidently worn despite his unconscious state for the past several hours. "Uncle," she breathed, bringing his hand to hold against her heart.

"God be praised," whispered Aramis as he crossed himself and approached the side of the bed. "You gave us quite a fright, old friend."

D'Artagnan gave a weak chuckle and looked upon them both with a slight twinkle in his eye, a sign of his old self making an appearance. "Did you really think I could leave you all in this mess?"

Aramis smiled, "It would not be the first one we had to get out of without you."

His eyes then turned to Katherine, who continued to kneel silently at his side as tears began to roll quietly down her cheeks and she pressed her lips tightly together to prevent any of her sobs from sounding. But, in his usual manner, D'Artagnan saw right through the child and offered her a tiny smile. "It is alright, _ma petite._ I am here."

Hearing his affectionate nickname for her proved to be too much for the girl as Katherine leaned forward and pressed her face lightly against his shoulder. He could feel her wet tears against his skin and turned his head a little more, allowing his face to brush against the softness of her hair. "I thought I was going to lose you," she sobbed quietly, shoulders quaking slightly. "I thought I had failed to save you."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes, breathing steadily for the first time since his body had absorbed the shock of the attack. "One day, I shall have to leave you. But today is not that day. You could never have failed me." As her fingers still held onto his hand from before, he did his best to gently tighten his hold on her for a brief moment before he had to allow his body to relax because of the pain he was in. There was a dominant throb in his back from where Louis' dagger had broken the skin, and he noticed now that all he wore on the upper half of his body were a number of blankets that had been put across him and tucked in as tightly as one could manage. Now slightly confused, the captain lifted his head a little and looked around the unfamiliar room with a frown.

"We're back at the monastery," Aramis explained. "Katherine had you brought here right away."

"And I pray you forgive me for what I had to do, Uncle." There was a slight trace of begging in her tone as she knelt beside him, lifting her head to kiss the back of his hand and hold it firmly against her heart. "I could not see your wound through your uniform."

He knew immediately what that must have meant. The old uniform he had chosen to wear to the Bastille that night was no longer in the same condition he had kept it in since the colour was retired. He had not yet seen what had been done to the material, but in his mind he could imagine just how tattered it would now appear after being subjected to her desperate attempts to remove it from his broken body. It hurt a little, to think that the uniform was no longer something he could wear with pride, but D'Artagnan hid his silent grief as he looked over at Kate, breathing slowly. "It does not matter," he told her simply. "It was but a piece of cloth."

The brunette shook her head a little, hanging it guiltily. "Papa and the others kept their uniforms for the same reasons you did. And I destroyed it. I know how much it meant to you." But D'Artagnan would not allow such negative feelings to be had about the uniform, and shifted himself slightly on the cot with grit teeth to bring Katherine's hand to his own lips before he lay it against his heart.

"You saved my life, _ma petite._ That is a debt I can never repay."

He held onto her hand for a moment. "Now," he began slowly, his voice a gentle whisper. "If the King has summoned you to court, then you must go. It is your duty to serve him in anyway that you can, especially while I am here and unable to do so."

The stubborn look returned to her eyes as she frowned, staring down at him as her blue eyes met his own. "I will not leave you alone in here until you are able to leave," she vowed. "I promised His Majesty that I would see you well again." Digesting this for a moment, she could see how his eyes betrayed his thoughts and the hope that now shone brightly in them. She could only assume that he had known about the desire to switch the twins around, and thus was aware that Louis was no longer in power without having to be told. Still, she could tell that he was busy thinking of what to say to her next.

That always was his way, she had come to realize. D'Artagnan never spoke without first considering what his words were and the impact they would have once delivered. "I should not want you to break your word to your King," he began, looking up at her. "Nor can I allow you to disregard his command. If I would be the reason for you to refuse, then I shall accompany you to the Palace tomorrow."

Everyone seemed to freeze at this announcement, with Aramis sharing a rather surprised look with Katherine before they both turned their attention down to the body who moved so painfully upon his cot. "You are not funny, Uncle," Katherine told him shortly, allowing herself to rise from her knees and stand at her full height as she rested his hand back at his side. "You are in no condition to move anywhere, least of all on a journey to the Palace." The very idea was absurd! D'Artagnan was fortunate to have survived his wound at all, and he was still in danger of contracting another illness while his body attempted to make itself whole again. Moving him would be foolish, absolutely foolish.

"I shall not be the reason that you ignore the King's wish for your presence," he replied, shifting on his cot as he struggled to try and adjust his arms. "Nor shall I ever forgive you if you use me in such a manner." Now she was torn and looked helplessly at Aramis for some kind of way out. She had sworn to Philippe that she would save his father's life if there was a way for her to do so, but now that very same man was threatening her with the worst possible thing he could think of and forcing her to do something else completely. With both arms moved and pressed down, D'Artagnan began the struggle to force his body upright, which he only achieved with the help of Katherine and Aramis on either side of him. The blankets previously covering his chest quickly slipped further down his body as he moved until at last he was hunched forward and panting from the exertion. As Katherine sat herself back on the edge of the cot to keep him supported against her shoulder, Aramis grabbed the blanket that she had folded earlier and threw it around him in an effort to keep him warmer.

"No one will forgive me for allowing you to do this," she murmured, wrapping her arms gently around his muscled chest. "You still should not be moving." Katherine could feel the heavy breathing in his chest as he leaned into her body, turning his head slowly until it came to rest against her neck and brushed her hair. There was no way of fooling anyone into thinking that he had strength enough to do this.

"She is right, D'Artagnan," Aramis told his friend in an effort to be the voice of reason. "You are fortunate to be alive at all. A journey to the Palace in your condition may very well endanger your life."

The stubborn musketeer breathed a heavy sigh, gently shaking his head against the soft skin of her neck. "My son..." Katherine closed her eyes against the stabbing pain she felt in her heart at those two words, trying to push them from thought. Of course he would want to see the son whom he had saved from death, having only just learned that the poor boy existed. It seemed only natural that he would wish to return to his duties as soon as possible, eager to fill the role that he had never properly been able to fill for his own flesh and blood. He had been around Katherine growing up, of course, but she was not his daughter. She could never hope to sit in that place in his heart, a space reserved for the children that he had helped to create.

"Send word to His Masjesty that I will come at his request," she told her father softly as she looked up with saddened eyes. "Do not mention his father."

Removing her arms from his chest and back, Katherine slowly slid off of the cot and rose to her feet before she took a moment to smooth her skirts. She turned briefly to both men and gave them a small curtsey with a bow of her head, turning to leave the room entirely. "Kate," D'Artganan called to her.

"I will pack what we require for the journey." Without looking back she spoke to them, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. And before he could call out to her again, she hurried out the door and down the corridor, leaving the two men alone together in the infirmary. D'Artagnan sighed softly, trying to ease his body into moving just enough to erase the stiffness from his joints.

"I feel as though I have upset her," he said, turning his head a little to look up at Aramis. "And yet I don't know how I managed to do it."

Aramis gave a small shrug and bowed his head, resting on the edge of the opposite cot as he folded his hands together. "You cannot expect her to be happy that you are coming," he said reasonably as he lifted his head a little. "Katherine has seen a great deal of pain and misery in the time that she has lived here with me, but never have I seen her so afraid of something as she was when she thought that she was going to lose you." None of the four men who were part of her life had any kind of blood connection to the child who had been left on the steps of the monastery twenty years ago, but it was no secret that she regarded them as her family, and they saw her in the same light. Even when Athos and his late wife had welcomed Raoul into the fold a few years before, the aging musketeer had come to love her like his own. Porthos, who had never allowed himself to love just one single thing before in his life, had instantly become attached to the tiny babe that bewildered him so.

And to think, it had all started because one of the younger priests had found the child at their door, wrapped tightly in a thick woollen blanket and crying her little heart out at being alone. He'd once said it was a moment of weakness that had allowed him to take the child into his arms and not send her away to an orphanage, but now he knew that he too had fallen in love with the little girl. "She loves you," came the simple explanation "As a daughter should love her father, she loves you."

"You have always been the father figure for her, Aramis," D'Artagnan said with a dismissive wave of his hand before he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "She cares for you far more than anyone else in all of France."

A small chuckle sounded deep in the throat of the priest, who looked at his friend with twinkling eyes. "You really are blind sometimes, my friend. Katherine may call me 'Papa,' but she would have done exactly as you did for Philippe if ever she saw that one of the four of us was in danger. Of this, I am absolutely sure." The idea of Katherine putting herself in front of death for his sake was a feeling that did not sit well with D'Artagnan, who frowned at the very thought. That was not the way that the world worked at all. It was a father's job to risk his life to spare his children, and not the other way around. Sometimes he thought that she didn't see it, but in the years that he had spent watching over Louis, whom he had secretly known to be his son, his love for Katherine had taken full control of his heart on numerous occasions. He knew that she didn't always see it, especially now that she had grown into such a head-strong young woman who seemed to insist that she did not require the same attentions as before. Still, he loved her dearly.

"I know she is displeased, but she must go if Philippe wishes for her to be in attendance when you speak," he said, groaning lightly. "And I cannot allow her to remain here to tend to me."

Concern grew evident in Aramis' aging face as he rose, gently pressing on D'Artagnan's shoulder until he had lain back down on the cot and readjusted the blankets around him. "I suggest you rest," he somewhat ordered. "We shall be leaving in the early morning...and the journey will be slow in order to accommodate your condition. Katherine will worry enough as it is."

Giving a small nod in agreement, D'Artagnan closed his eyes and allowed his head to lay back against the pillow, his body slowly being overtaken by exhaustion. "At least she will go," he murmured. "That is all that matters." Aramis said nothing as he continued to watch over his friend for a few more moments, contented with the fact that he had drifted off into a restful sleep. All the signs pointed toward him being out of danger for the time being, though he was not thrilled with the idea of moving him so soon after the encounter at the Bastille. To a man with a great sense of honour and devotion like D'Artagnan, it would be important for them to be present when summoned by the King at court. But for Katherine, Aramis knew that her primary concern would not be the meeting she was supposed to attend. It would be the man who would cause her a great deal of heartache before it was all over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Alright guys, here's the next chapter. I'm hoping that none of you have grown bored of the story yet and will continue to share it around, as I'd really like to hear what you guys think. I'm slowly working up to the big reveal of where Katherine comes from and what happened that brought her into the lives of Aramis and the others. And I'm hoping that nobody is incredibly upset with what I did in the last chapter, because the ending of the movie always bugged me a bit when it came to D'Artagnan. Between the character and the actor, I'm a huge fan, and while I agree that it was done well as a final outcome for him, it always hurt me to watch that scene during the movie because you had to accept the end. So, I changed it. Fanfiction is wonderful that way, huh?  
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**Chapter VI**

"Athos, Porthos and Aramis!"

The heavily decorated doors of the audience chamber were pulled aside to reveal the three men in their newly cleaned uniforms, looking every inch to be the musketeers they had once been. Together they moved forward into the room, walking proudly along the carpet until they reached the end of it and knelt a little unsteadily before the throne. All of them held their hats in their hands, pressed firmly against their hearts as they bowed their heads in reverence to their sovereign who waited until the door was firmly shut behind them before he made to move toward them.

"Please, do not wish to see you on your knees," Philippe said quickly as he held out his hands to help first Athos, then Aramis and Porthos back to their feet. "I owe the three of you my life as a man before I do as a King."

None of them immediately spoke, but turned their bodies slightly and bowed to the other powerful presence in the room, the older woman who had sat beside her son on a slightly lower chair. "My lady," they chanted together.

Queen Anne was still a rather strikingly beautiful woman, though the lines of her age were beginning to appear on her face as well. She looked much like she had the previous night at the masquerade that Louis had hosted to lift his spirits, with her dark locks hanging down around her shoulders and an elaborate gown gracing her figure. Of course, it wasn't as vibrant in colour as it had been before, but a rather simple design of blue and black that really brought out the depths of her eyes as she smiled down at all three men.

"You are most welcome here," she said in her heavy accent. "For saving my son and bringing peace to our kingdom."

The three of them kept their heads bowed to her for a moment before Aramis stepped forward, his eyes still downcast. In a slightly more graceful movement than before he was down on his knee before her. "I once did something terrible by taking the second of your twin sons from you, allowing you to believe that he had not survived his infancy." Anne looked over at Philippe with a look that told all about those horrible years they had been separated, having learned the truth only when he was sixteen and to be imprisoned in the Bastille by his brother so that he could never attempt to take the throne away from him. "And now I come to beg for your forgiveness. I have done my best within those years to cleanse my soul in all of the ways that I know how, but I know that nothing will save me from my sin now except perhaps your pardon."

He had asked for her forgiveness once before, when she had gone to confession and he had managed to take the place of her usual priest. But in that moment, he had merely attempted to tell her what was being done without directly putting her life in danger, and had so asked for her forgiveness without really having received it. Now it was his turn to beg quietly for her pardon, for a soft word that would tell him that he was indeed lifted of his sin in the eyes of his Queen. And the response he sought came in a slightly un-customary fashion as Anne glanced toward her son and slowly lowered herself a little to touch Aramis' shoulder, beckoning for him to rise.

"You have that, and so much more," Anne told him gently, offering him a smile when he had fully risen to his feet once again. "But I see that there are only three of you present. I thought there was another who aided in your rescue," she said, looking back toward Philippe with a look of curiosity.

Athos was quick to step forward. "If your Majesties will permit, she is here, just outside that door." He gestured off to the side, to a door that was not commonly used by people who appeared before their King for an audience. It was a place that saw far less use.

But it seemed that that was not the most interesting fact to Queen Anne, who turned to look at them all in turn. "She?"

"Yes, my lady, my daughter," Aramis said as he shifted his weight between his feet a little. "Twenty years ago a child was found on the steps of the monastery where I was expecting to live when I retired from the musketeers. I cannot explain why I did not have her sent away to live in an orphanage, but I adopted the girl and she has been a part of our lives ever since then."

Still Anne looked a little confused, digesting that it was in fact a woman who had accompanied the four men to the Bastille that night to save her son from wrongful imprisonment. "And you allowed her to head into such a dangerous place?"

This time it was Porthos who took a small step forward, attempting to spare any kind of shame that Aramis might feel as he reflected on the circumstances of the rescue. "The girl grew up around us, milady, and I'm afraid that she has since picked up several of our personal qualities because of that. She was the one who lead the musketeers away from the monastery...and she would not be left behind."

So, she was not actually a child of his creation, Anne thought to herself as she looked down at Aramis with a small smile. And yet he seemed to regard this child as being one of the most important things in his life, to which she could relate. Despite his misgivings, the Queen still loved Louis dearly because of the fact that she had delivered him into this world, and had been willing to overlook many of his negative points as she had felt it was her job as a mother to do. Now that she finally had Philippe back in her life, Anne was slowly beginning to feel pride for the very first time, which was something she wished she could have shared.

"I would very much like to meet this young woman." A simple look over at Philippe was all that was needed before he was clapping his hands to have the doors opened once again, an order that his servants were quick to obey. But as they parted to reveal who stood on the other side, both Anne and Philippe gasped in shock.

Standing as straight as her body would allow with the extra weight on her shoulder, Katherine stepped forward slowly and guided D'Artagnan with her through the doors and into the large audience chamber. One of his strong arms was thrown over her shoulder as he moved with obvious pain, her other hand resting firmly against his chest in order to keep him upright. For her part, Katherine was so focused on helping him approach the throne that she didn't dare lift her eyes from his face, shifting her body only slightly as each light tread of her foot carried them further and further into the room. His face was still a ghostly white, his teeth grit against the pain that ran rampant through his body with each movement. Only when she heard a soft sob from up ahead did she dare to turn her head for a brief moment and then lower her eyes just as quickly in the presence of the King and his mother.

"Your Majesties," she murmured, giving a small bob so that D'Artagnan did not have to move any more than necessary.

"Why is he here? He can barely stand!" came Anne's horrified voice as she clenched Philippe's arm tightly.

"Do not be upset with her, my lady," D'Artganan said lightly in his gruff voice, trying to adjust his stance a little against Katherine's body. "Her concern for my life would have kept her from coming at the King's command, and I could not allow that to happen."

Aramis stepped toward them, offering his own support to his weakened friend before he addressed his monarch. "Your Majesties," he began. "May I present my daughter, Katherine."

Again she offered them a bob of a curtsey, keeping her eyes downcast out of respect to help make up for the fact that she could not make proper deference to Philippe and Anne. But before anyone else could speak, Katherine made her voice heard. "If it please Your Majesty, my Uncle is still incredibly weak and cannot be on his feet for too long."

She could feel D'Artagnan's eyes on her, clearly displeased at the idea of his body showing weakness to both his son and his lover, but he dared not rebuke her in front of them. That would surely come later when they were alone again, since she had refused to let him stay in a room without allowing her to attend to him. He was not pleased to know that his niece would have ignored an order from her King...but nor had he had a chance to properly speak to Katherine since the moment that he had awoken back in the infirmary. He knew there was something going on in her head that had distanced her from him emotionally for whatever reason. He just didn't know what the cause was.

Royal decorum seemed to prevent Anne from running toward him the way she had in the past during their stolen moments together, but her eyes betrayed every possible emotion that she could have upon seeing her lover alive. "This way, please," Philippe said hurriedly, offering his mother a hand with which to guide her into the tiny room that had been prepared for their arrival. Already Katherine could feel him growing unsteady on his feet and was grateful for the hand that Aramis had leant in order to move D'Artagnan into the next room. Six tall wooden chairs sat around a small table, the chair for the King evident by its elaborate decoration and plush seating, while the others were cushioned a little more simply. She did not wait to be instructed, but knew enough of courtly procedures to help settle D'Artagnan slowly into the chair that sat on the left side of the King, trying to make the transition as easy as possible as her hands firmly grasped his forearm and lowered him into it. A sigh of relief sounded from his lips as he began to relax a little, still white against the pain of the wound that would need to be examined again in a short while. Athos, Porthos and Aramis all moved around the table and stood before their chairs, waiting patiently as Philippe helped his mother into the chair to the right of his own. Only then did he turn back to Katherine, who had since taken a place of kneeling on the floor beside her Uncle with one of his hands held tightly in her own.

"Please," he said gently to her as he gestured to his chair. "Sit here."

But Katherine quickly shook her head, daring to allow her eyes to rise a little to meet those of her King. "I thank you, Your Majesty, but pray not concern yourself with me," she asked, resting back on her heels. "I am content to remain where I am most needed." Despite her short sentence, her words seemed to have an impact on the room. It had not really been an order, but a kind offer that Philippe had spoken to her, which she had refused by insisting that she was happier to settle herself on the floor beneath the rest of them. Aramis looked at his daughter with a raised brow, wondering what it was that had prompted such words, and so Katherine continued. "I mean no disrespect," she continued slowly. "But I am a simple girl. I have no place in a palace such a this...and I made a promise the other night that I am bound to keep out of love."

She dropped her eyes quickly, turning back to look upon her uncle as he slowed his breathing down to a much steadier state of being. There was a small sound of rustling that came from beside her and caught her attention, causing Katherine to look up directly into the face of Queen Anne, who held a cushioned stool in her hands. "Then I pray you at least accept this," she said with a gentle smile. "To spare your knees from kneeling so long."

The girl found herself rather speechless as the Queen gazed down at her with the kindest eyes she had ever before seen, having risen from her own place to offer the little foot stool that was placed in the room for her comfort. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Content that her gift had been accepted, Anne allowed the stool to transfer from her hand into Katherine's before she turned back and resumed her place in her chair. There was another moment of the girl being clearly stunned at having been addressed by the Dowager Queen of France in such a relaxed manner before she set it as close to D'Artagnan's chair as possible and resumed her post of watching him. The stool was not very high and barely permitted her to see over the table, but that didn't bother her in the slightest. If anything, Katherine wished that she had not allowed anyone to talk her into coming to court, where she felt completely out of place and plain, especially in the presence of a woman as great as the Queen. She lead a rather modest lifestyle back in the monastery with clothing that couldn't have been further from appropriate to being seen at court. And for someone who really hadn't put much thought into her appearance before, Katherine was suddenly rather conscious of the fact that she was dressed in a simple brown skirt, a blouse of white and shoes with no heel on them. She wore no jewellery no fancy hat or sashes. There was absolutely nothing about her that stood out at all, except perhaps the way in such she seemed glued to the side of the captain of the King's musketeers.

And those eyes. Those startling, blue eyes...

Realizing that the conversation had been closed, Philippe motioned for the others to take their seats and leaned back into his own chair, looking around the table with ease. He was among friends now, people that he trusted with his life. Even the girl who sat below him, the one he knew absolutely nothing about, had proven to be a friend when she had gone into the Bastille with her father and uncles in order to save the life of a complete stranger. "First, I want to thank you, all of you," he said with a glance toward Katherine and D'Artagnan, "for all that you have done for me. You have saved me from the Bastille twice now, and the other night you kept me alive." None of them spoke, merely listening to the words of praise that their King offered to them all to show his gratitude for his new position in life. "And I owe you for reuniting me with my mother," he added with a glance back at Anne, who smiled brightly from her chair. "Because I now know that I am no longer alone in this world as I thought I was. I have a purpose now...a way in which to use my life to serve other people."

D'Artagnan shifted a little in his chair as his eyes finally opened and his head turned to look at Philippe, a great sense of pride burning within the depths of the blue orbs. And while his hand still held tightly to Katherine's, she knew that he was looking up at this son and over toward the boy's mother with a look that she would never have seen before in his face. Again she felt that ripple of some untold emotion hit her stomach with vicious force, but she continued to keep her silent post at her uncle's feet. She did not yet trust herself to speak again in the presence of the King, nor even around the Queen Mother. There were just too many things going through her mind at that moment for her to truly focus on something more than just making sure that a certain someone was still alive.

"It gladdens my heart to hear you speak such words, Your Majesty," Aramis said in his gravelly voice from across the table. "For many years, we dreamed of serving a King who would bring peace to his people and be there to listen to their voices of pain and hunger. And now, for the very first time since your father was our ruler, I believe that France will have exactly that."

Philippe smiled, his chest breathing a small smile of relief. "I am glad."

Silence fell between them all as they allowed the moment to settle in, each casting glances around the table to see what the others were thinking at that moment. "Now," Philippe started slowly. "I asked you all here for the purpose of discussing what we should do in light of recent events. I do not wish for my brother to remain in the Bastille for the rest of his life." Katherine bit her tongue, wincing a little as she did so.

"What do you propose we do with him?" Athos asked, his voice far more even in tone than Katherine would have thought it would be.

"He caused a lot of pain when he was on the throne," Porthos chimed in. "And setting him free would make him a danger to you."

D'Artganan's hand tightened a little around Katherine's, prompting the girl to look up at him in concern as she placed her other hand on his arm in an attempt to soothe him, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. Without even having spoken, she knew that he would not like the idea of Louis being inside the Bastille at all, despite the fact that the boy had nearly caused his death. Nor would he be alright with the idea of just letting him wander free in France, since he would be the biggest threat to the throne that Philippe would encounter.

"Which is why I wish for your council," Philippe nodded with a look to the four musketeers. "And why I wish for you to be present," he added to his mother. "Because this is not something I can decide for myself when it is not only my life he would come after."

There was a weight in his words that seemed to startle them all as they considered the truth behind them. Of course, Philippe was definitely the one who would be in the greatest danger if Louis were ever to find a way in which to come forward with his claim, but it would not solely be him that would become a target. Aramis...Athos...Porthos...D'Artagnan...they would all be looked upon as the enemy. Even Katherine, as a woman who had dressed herself in a boy's clothes in order to accompany them to the Bastille, would likely be someone that Louis would seek revenge upon if ever he came across her in the future, Aramis thought to himself in a bit of a panic. But perhaps not, for her clothing had helped to disguise her a little and she had not been all that close to him for a long period of time. Maybe there was a chance that she would be safe. Still, he was not entirely willing to take that risk on her life, and so looked up at his King rather quickly.

"My life would be nothing if he were to seek me out," he stated simply. "But I do not wish for any harm to come to Katherine for her part."

By now she was growing a little annoyed with their desire to be chivalrous about her, for Katherine had never really been one to like the idea of being saved from danger all the time. "I went because I would not be left to ponder your fate while you threw your lives into danger," she said stubbornly, her eyes locked on Aramis. "You told me what was to come, and I went knowing exactly what was involved. If indeed I am to become a target of revenge, it will be of my own making and no one elses."

"Kate," D'Artagnan growled softly in warning.

His tone quickly told the girl to lower her eyes and hold her tongue, which he had never before done to her in such a public manner. But she realized that she had probably overstepped a boundary that she would otherwise revere, and so settled herself back onto the stool with both hands in her lap after her uncle released his hold on her hand. The colour rose in her cheeks and they began to burn a little, knowing that the eyes of the King and Queen Anne were now on her. But she would not apologize, she absolutely refused to do that. There had been nothing wrong with the way she had phrased things, nor had she created any falsehoods in her story.

"Your Majesty must do as you see fit in this matter," he continued, now addressing Philippe directly. "But I beg that you remember who he is...and all of the wrong that he did to you over the course of your life. I understand if you cannot love him the way that you should, but pray do not become him." He shifted a little in his chair, trying to make himself a little more comfortable and remove some of the pressure that he had placed on his wound by resting against the back of the chair. The movement caught Katherine's eye and quickly brought her gaze up toward him in concern, which he seemed to ignore. She took this as a sign that he was displeased with her and lowered her eyes again, her jaw tight.

"After what he nearly took away from me, I could only fear becoming such a person," said the King, looking over at D'Artagnan as he swallowed. "Father."

It was like a knife had been plunged into her own back, that was the only way that Katherine could think of the pain that she felt at that utterance of that single word. The life she had known before had suddenly ceased to exist as another figure came into the place that she had once occupied, knowing that someone else had need of him more than she did now. She dared not move in case one of the others present asked what the trouble was, but she could feel the walls around her heart begin to squeeze terribly and make it a little harder to breathe.

"I am still here, my son," his low voice promised in an intimate moment between the two.

"I shall never be able to thank you enough for saving his life," Philippe spoke, his words directed down at Katherine.

Still the girl did not lift her eyes, but instead allowed the words to come forth in a quiet tone of voice void of any specific emotion. "To let an innocent man die would be a sin in the eyes of God."

Aramis narrowed his eyes as he glanced across the table at his daughter and her sudden ability to control her tongue. Something was going on, he knew it simply from the fact that she would not lift her eyes to speak to anyone now, which was a trait quite unlike Katherine, who preferred to establish eye contact with everyone so that she could judge the appearance of their eyes. It was said that they were the window to the soul, after all, and as a priest, he often found himself looking at someone's eyes as well to judge their character. Still, he couldn't single her out by asking her blatantly in front of Philippe or the Queen, so he would need to resist the impulse for the time being. And not a moment too soon, for the chimes of the clock could be heard to tell the time as being noon, which meant that he had somewhere he needed to be. Philippe seemed to be thinking along the same lines and rose from his chair, offering his hand out to his mother while the others also rose to their feet.

"I am afraid that I am now required for other matters," he said simply, giving his mother a smile. "Aramis, if you wish to, you are welcome to accompany us to the chapel." "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said with a bow. "The rest of you are more than welcome to whatever will please you. I've arranged for quarters to be at your disposal for the time that you are here, up the staircase to the right."

Everyone bowed as Philippe lead Anne out of the room, Aramis bringing up the end of their group before Katherine quickly moved to help D'Artagnan from his chair and resume her place at his side as his support. He grunted a little from the effort of removing himself from the chair and placing his weight back on his unsteady legs, seemingly greatful for the arms that moved immediately to hold him upright.

"We should get you settled into a room," Katherine said as soon as the King had disappeared from sight.

"Katherine-"

"You will need to rest after the journey." Her words were definite, cutting the conversation before it could begin as she started guiding them toward the door. But Athos and Porthos were quick to step toward the pair.

"Let us get him upstairs and settled," Porthos offered. "You look as if you need to go for a walk."

Silently cursing that Athos had picked up on something from her, the brunette simply nodded, allowing them to step forward and take control before she slipped out of the way and stepped back to watch them go. When none of them glanced back in her direction, Katherine took that as her cue to go and turned rather sharply toward the stairs, which she climbed with quick feet before she disappeared down the corridor. A moment to herself to collect her thoughts and emotions was exactly what she needed after that brief meeting, her heart and mind seeming to team against her as she struggled to keep her composure.

"Let her go," Athos muttered under his breath as he glanced over toward his niece, having spotted the look on D'Artagnan's face. "She is carrying something heavy in her heart that she is not yet ready to share."

Porthos, now curious of what was happening around him, also stole a look toward her retreating back. "How can you tell?"

Athos hesitated, looking over toward his two friends with a sad look of his own. "Because it was the same look I wore when I lost Raoul and I thought my heart would never be whole again."

Neither of them seemed to understand as they manouvered the stairs and began the gradual climb up to the rooms that Philippe had set aside for their use. "She will come back," he promised, trying to ease the stress he saw on D'Artagnan's face. "Katherine would never leave anyone else to care for you."

But the older man was not so easily soothed by words, knowing in his heart that there was something going unsaid. He had immediately regretted the way in which he had spoken to her earlier when he saw the way that she reacted, never having disciplined her in such a manner before. And now she was moving away from him in more than just one way...

"I will speak to her then," he decided, gritting his teeth as they mounted the stairs as gingerly as possible. "Perhaps she will be ready to tell me what she's holding onto so tightly by tonight."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys, it's me again! So, after reviewing what I've already written (which is actually far beyond what I've posted so far), I noticed that while I was enjoying the way in which I was making things happen, I hadn't really been good at giving this story a way in which to actually develop into something that was hopefully enjoyable to read. I owe a huge thank you to Idiotic-Rebel for their comment on a chapter, because it really helped me to create this chapter. No, I hadn't written this one before. I apologize that this is a shorter chapter and probably not as interesting as the ones from before, or those that will follow, but I'm hoping this is a start of a better direction for this story. So, I leave you all to consider this...mistaken identity/kidnapping, or death of a character, which types of things sound interesting? I think I've been over thinking a few things, so now I'm trying to decide which kind of direction I want to take later on when things really get interesting and dangerous and fun...thoughts?**

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**Chapter VII**

"I don't belong here..."

She couldn't help the anger that was bubbling inside her at that very moment, her mind too clouded with the violent emotion to do much else but walk blindly through the endless corridors of the palace. The further away from everyone she was right now the better, she thought. None of the others seemed to understand what it was that bothered her so, thinking only that she was perhaps seeking some kind of attention after the role she had played in the events of the Bastille. But that wasn't it, Katherine wasn't just acting up for no reason. That had never been her way.

The events of the past few days had shaken the poor girl far beyond what she allowed to be seen on the surface, and terror at the very idea at having been in a place as cold and dark as the Bastille was still rampant in her mind. Katherine could still recall the horrible conditions in which so many of the prisoners had been forced to live, without the proper shelter to keep any of them from contracting the smallest of illnesses. There were precious few windows in the prison as well, which meant that while none could look in on the occupants of the Bastille, it also meant that those inside were not able to look at what lay beyond, refused the ability to look for some kind of forgiveness among the stars at night as she had so often done herself. She could only imagine what crimes were punishable by confinement in a place like that. Certainly sharing a face with another human being wasn't one of them, was it?

And yet she could not help but remember how she had nearly lost D'Artagnan because of that crime, knowing full well that Louis would probably have ordered something far worse for his twin brother if it were not for the fact that he believed them both to share the blood of a royal. In truth they did, though it was not of the same line that he was sure to think it was. Again she found herself confronted with anger, struggling against it as her feet carried her out of the palace and into an adjoining courtyard, finding the pathways that had been groomed for the use of the King. The whole affair was causing her great distress as she went over the details in her mind, unable to comprehend how they had all been dragged into the situation from the very beginning. For the most part she blamed Queen Anne, feeling that the woman must have done something to seduce her Uncle into loving her and thus creating their current troubles in the form of Louis and Philippe. But then she blamed D'Artagnan, who had been foolish enough to allow himself to feel such traitorous thoughts when it came to the one woman he ought not to feel anything more than devotion and loyalty toward. No, she thought to herself, this was Philippe's fault, for if he did not exist than none of this would have occurred...

A soft sigh fell from her lips as she slowly came to a stop and lowered herself onto the edge of one of the large fountains that sat in the middle of the yard, breathing slowly so as to help clear her mind just a little. She was anxious for D'Artagnan's health, there was no getting around that. She was upset at having been brought to the palace, where so many women before her had come and gone for a price she was not willing to pay. Fingertips lifted and gingerly touched her side, wincing a little as she pressed against the wound still freshly imprinted upon her skin. It was still rather tender, more so than she had hoped it would be after a short while, and it was beginning to nag at her slightly as she progressed through the day. Perhaps she would need to take another look at it, she decided, once she had allowed herself a few moments to gather herself together. The last thing she wanted was to approach anyone while she was still muddled in her thoughts.

The light tread of approaching boots caught her attention and caused her blue orbs to lift from the ground, fingers dropping away from her side and feet pressing against the grass until she was standing again. From around a hidden corner came a man in uniform, the very uniform she had one day hoped to see on Raoul before he had been sent back to the front lines and killed before he could propose to the woman he loved.

"I am sorry," the musketeer said gently, removing his hat from his head and sweeping her a bow with it. "It appears that I have startled you, Mademoiselle. Please forgive me."

He was young, she noted, not as young as Raoul but not yet as old as D'Artagnan. His hair was of an auburn colour, naturally curled and falling around his ears in a shorter fashion than she customarily saw among the King's men. "Startled?" she asked him slowly, tilting her head slightly to give him a look of slight confusion. "Do I appear startled to you, Monsieur?"

Standing back at his full height, the man replaced his hat atop his head and held his other hand against his sword, looking at Katherine with slight amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Perhaps a little," he said, slowly stepping forward to meet her. "I am not used to meeting anyone out here on my patrols. My name is Tolbert." A hand slowly extended and plucked one of her smaller ones from her side, where he then bent forward at the waist and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles.

"Katherine," she said slowly, bobbing a curtsey to him when he released his hold on her hand. "And just how did you come to be here, Lady Katherine?" The girl laughed softly. "Just Katherine," she clarified. "My father is currently a guest of the King. And I am afraid that my Uncle cannot be left alone in his current condition, so I suppose I too am here at His Majesty's request."

Perhaps it was because of the reputation that Louis had once had with women, or perhaps it was something else entirely, but the expression on Tolbert's face did not betray any kind of curiosity or confusion by the presence of the young woman within the palace grounds. If anything, he seemed to keep a rather neutral face that would easily throw anyone off of their game because they could not immediately read whether or not they had managed to gain the upper hand on him. It appeared that her Uncle's training was far more thorough than she had originally thought it would be, though she still held out the hope that she might one day be allowed to find this out on her own accord.

"Your father?" he asked her, a hint of question in his tone.

The young woman nodded slowly, brushing a stray piece of her hair back behind her ear and into a more proper place. "Aramis."

A single word was all it took for there to be a change in his demeanour, a startled sort of look that betrayed his astonishment as having the word "father" associated with his name in anything but a religious manner. His dark eyes widened as he looked at her, his lips parting as if to say something that he could not quite comprehend. But Katherine was rather accustomed to this reaction when it came to the mention of the man she called father, for few people understood that the ageing priest had simply adopted her out of the goodness of his heart and raised her as if she had been his own. It wasn't exactly a common practise among the men of the Church to adopt orphans in such a manner, as most of those children who were found on the doorsteps were quickly dispatched to the nearest orphanage to be cared for with many other children like them. That very well could have been her. And yet Aramis had taken pity on her, for reasons he had never disclosed to her, and allowed her to remain in his care for the past twenty years. He had praised her, scolded her, punished her, taught her...all of the things that a father should do to his child in order to see that they grow up into someone of whom they could be proud. Whether or not she had become that person yet though, Katherine wasn't sure.

But in Tolbert's defence, he seemed to make a quick recovery from his surprise. "I was not aware that he had a child at all," he said smoothly, offering Katherine another little bow as a small smile lit upon his lips. "Though I would hardly call you a child, Mademoiselle Katherine."

Her own curiosity took control at that point, causing a slight tilt of her head as she looked at at the young man with a raised brow, a smile perking the corners of her own mouth. "And what would you call me, Monsieur?"

The words were out before she had a chance to check herself and swallow them again, and Katherine mentally kicked herself for allowing such a foolish question to be released into the open like that. Her father would surely shoot her a disapproving look right now if only he could see her. Tolbert, however, only smiled a little further as he lifted his upper body once again and looked at her with a softened gaze, taking in her face with his dark brown eyes that lurked there beneath the brim of his hat.

"I would say that you are one of the most beautiful young women I have seen at court in a very long time," he answered gently, causing a flush to rise in her cheeks.

"Monsieur is too kind-"

But he brushed her words aside with a wave of his hand. "No. I only speak the truth."

An awkward silence began to settle in between them as Katherine's cheeks burned even brighter than they had before, too stunned by his compliments to say much in reply. The poor girl was not used to having such attentions paid to her, believing herself to be merely another face that was easily passed in the streets each day. And within the walls of the monastery that she called her home, there were not many young men who could turn their heads in the midst of prayer to cast their eye in her direction. But now was the time in which it was prudent for her to excuse herself from his company, realizing that if anyone else were to happen upon them right now, it would not be appropriate for a young woman who was a stranger to the palace to be seen with one of the King's musketeers and not another woman in sight.

"I should perhaps return to my apartments now," she said quickly, looking back from where she had initially come. "I fear that if I do not return soon my Uncle Athos will shortly come looking for me."

In an instant the smile had vanished from his face and a wide-eyed looked replaced it as he registered the name in his mind and frowned a little when it seemed to settle in. His reaction was one that startled Katherine. "Athos?" he demanded quickly, a frown forming on his face.

"Yes," she nodded, not understanding his reaction. "Is something the matter?"

But he was almost ignorant to the fact that she had even spoken now, his face turned slightly away from hers as he battled with his own internal thoughts. "I am afraid my duties require me elsewhere. Good day, Mademoiselle." With a touch of his hat he had turned on his heel and disappeared around the same corner from which he had initially appeared to her, leaving Katherine to stand in the courtyard on her own with a look of absolute confusion on her features. She hadn't seen such a reaction like that before when it came to the mention of Athos, despite the fact that he had grown increasingly more protective of her since the death of his son and often times refused to let her go anywhere without his presence.

Tolbert had moved away so quickly that Katherine could not part her lips in time to ask what it was that bothered him so at the mention of a name before he had disappeared from sight. A feeling of unease began to overtake her as her eyes remained locked on that spot though, a shiver coursing up her spine. Something felt off about his overreaction...but what was it? Giving her head a bit of a shake, Katherine focused her senses again on her previous motive, which was to return to the walls of the palace. She didn't know how long she had been absent, but she did know that she would need to go and see to things, ensuring that her family was settled into their rooms and that D'Artagnan was wanting for nothing during his stay. Turning slowly, the young woman cast only one more glance over her shoulder before she too retired from the courtyard, her own footsteps carrying her away from the spot of her sudden meeting. Perhaps in time, she would come to understand what that was all about.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys, hope that last chapter wasn't too much of a bore for you! So to help make up for it, I'm posting another chapter already! Hopefully this one will look a lot more exciting in terms of progress, though there's still not a huge amount of action and sword fighting to be had just yet. That will all come in time. Please sent me your reviews, I'd still love to hear what you guys think!**

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"Thank you."

The servant who had appeared with food for him bowed low to the captain of the musketeers before he took the tray and removed himself completely from the room, leaving D'Artagnan alone with his thoughts for a moment. A great many things had happened within the last few days, so much in fact that the poor man was hardly able to keep up with the events as he had done in his youth. Granted, a large part of that would be the fact that he was not overly mobile at the moment thanks to the wound on his back, but part of that would also be attributed to the fact that he was no longer as young as he had once been. And now that things were approaching a whole new horizon line, he struggled to come to terms with some of those changes.

Propped up against the pillows of the bed, he had allowed his boots to be removed and only those before he had been lain out on top of the blankets, warmed by the fire that filled the room with a comfortable glow. None of the others were with him, for there had been room enough for them all to have a little privacy thanks to Philippe's generosity. Ah, Philippe. D'Artagnan could feel his heart swell with pride as he thought of the son that he had newly found, knowing that despite his absence from the boy's life he had turned out to be a good man after all. And Anne...seeing her again after his experience at the Bastille had renewed his love for her with a fire that refused to be extinguished, made difficult by the fact that they both still had roles to play at court. Still, she now knew that he was alive, and her earlier concern for his well being said that she still loved him just as deeply as he loved her. All that remained now was for them to decide how their lives would continue, whether it was apart and following the rules laid before them or together secretly so that they might be able to find real happiness for the very first time. Even just the idea of such a possibility brought a small smile to his lips, as it was a dream that he had envisioned many times over in the years since he and Anne had crossed than forbidden line and fallen in love. Now there was a chance at it coming true.

But at what cost, he asked himself. For them to be together, they could not continue to live at court with Philippe. There were far too many people around them constantly for a proper relationship to be established without suspicion, and yet neither of them would be able to leave Philippe alone now, not when they had just found him again. Their circumstances were not looking all together promising, but still he continued to cling to hope. Hope that perhaps something or someone would be able to provide an answer to their plight and finally allow love to be their outcome. After the many years of unhappiness she had suffered during her previous marriage, Anne deserved that much, he thought firmly. The old king had not been cruel to her as far as he was aware, but nor had he been overly kind to his Austrian bride, who somehow managed to find solace in a simple man like himself. If anything, he only wanted Anne to finally have something that she could call her own.

A gentle knock on the door roused his thoughts and brought him back to the present moment as he watched a familiar figure slip inside and close it lightly behind her. Her eyes were kept down as she moved silently about the room, giving no greeting nor immediately coming to his side as she had done in the past. He had been right to sense that something was wrong, he decided, watching her thin frame gather his boots from the foot of the bed and place them carefully by the fire. She straightened them to stand properly and began to stoke the fire itself, ensuring that there was enough wood there to keep the room warm for him before she rose again and rubbed her hands together gently.

"Are you not even going to speak?" he asked, shifting a little on the bed.

Katherine turned herself a little, moving to the chest of drawers by the window as she began organizing his things carefully inside. "I would give you no more reason to be displeased with me, Uncle." Her refusal to look at him was beginning to grow a little more frustrating as the moments passed, causing some of the earlier anxiety at the situation to surface in the old man. When she answered him like that, there really was no room for too many other emotions, not when it came to the dynamic of their relationship and how it had been for nearly twenty years.

Katherine closed the first drawer and removed the jug of water from the top, moving to set it near the flames of the fire in order to warm it a little before she used it. Then to the table beside the bed she put the bowl and sponge, next to which she lay the cloth that she had been using to dress the wound again to help prevent it from staining the white of his shirts. Approaching the side of the bed, she offered out a hand for him to grab onto and pull himself forward so that he was sitting away from the pillows and in more of an upright position. Her nimble fingers slowly began to undo the collar of his shirt, helping him to slip it off of his body almost completely before Katherine moved herself around to stand just behind him. The binding that she had used earlier came undone with a little more force before she took the cloth from his body and started looking the stab wound over.

"Does it hurt terribly?" she whispered, feeling her throat tighten a little as she gently traced her fingers over it.

"Yes...but the pain reminds me that I am still living," he told her, turning his head a little to glance over his shoulder. Again he noticed that she was avoiding his eye as she focused on the task at hand, gently removing the lumps of dried blood from his skin with the material that she had just pulled from his body. Words filtered through his mind as he considered what next to say that might somehow start a conversation between the pair, but nothing seemed to make enough sense without directly asking her why she had grown so distant all of a sudden.

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak again just as Katherine turned away and moved back toward the fireplace, throwing the soiled bandage to its mercy. The sight of her retreating form was beginning to feel a little normal to him now, and he wasn't liking the fact that it had become so. What had happened to the young girl who came to him with everything? What had changed so much over the last few days that she could leave her father at the Bastille out of concern for his life and then proceed to go on as if they were nothing more than strangers?

"I do not know what I have done to upset you so."

"I am not upset," she said quickly, returning with the jug to pour the now warmer water into the waiting bowl. A sigh fell from his lips as he lifted a hand to rub down the side of his face, feeling the weariness of the day beginning to creep over his body.

"Then why do you avoid me as if I am already dead?" The bed beneath him shifted a little when she climbed up behind him and lightly pressed the damp sponge to his back, working on the edges of the wound to first clean the surrounding flesh before she would venture deeper into it. He straightened a little bit when he felt the cool water touch his skin, breathing slowly so as to keep focused with his attempts at coaxing the information out of Katherine in a kinder way.

"Because it is better for me to play my role now and not risking angering you or Papa further while we are guests of the King."

Her answer made it all sound so simple, he noted. As if those were the only reasons she would ever need in order to keep her thoughts to herself and her sharp tongue in check, which was not the way that Katherine was. Pain shot through his back as she approached the wound with the sponge and applied a little bit of pressure closer to the puncture mark in his skin, causing D'Artagnan to hiss in discomfort and lean a little further forward to escape the pain.

In an instant, one of Katherine's arms was wrapped around him in support, her forehead lightly pressed to the back of his shoulder. "Breathe," she reminded him gently, allowing him a moment to regain control before she withdrew her forehead and again pressed to the wound. He was ready this time and exhaled slowly against the burning sensation that coursed through that part of his back, trying to keep himself as relaxed as possible during her ministrations. Closing his eyes and lifting his head a little, he established a slow breathing pattern of inhaling and exhaling to keep himself calm, then moved his arm to softly lay on top of the one she held against his stomach. His fingers closed around her smaller hand and held it captive, reminding himself that he wasn't alone in the pain that he bore despite their current places.

"How is your side?" he asked her, holding her hand firmly when he felt her stiffen a little against him.

"Fine," Katherine said shortly as she tried to pull away from him.

"Katherine-"

"Uncle, I need my other hand to tie this bandage properly." Again he sighed and released his hold on her, feeling a cool sensation creep over his skin in place of where her arm used to be. He could hear her rip the fabric to the right length and begin to wrap it around him, binding the wound tightly so that nothing else could get into it and cause infection. He had seen it done often enough in his service as a musketeer to understand just how important it was to the healing process. Too many men had died due to infection and poor doctoring. But he was safe in Katherine's hands, of that he was sure, for he knew her better than almost anyone else in the world, save for Aramis.

"You need to rest now," she instructed, sliding off of the bed and back to the floor as she busied her hands with the contents of the side table.

"Let me see it," he said gently, reaching out to touch her arm.

But the girl shook her head. "You need not concern yourself with me, Uncle."

Not one to be bested, especially now, D'Artagnan wrapped his fingers around her a little tighter and waited until she looked over at him, establishing eye contact for the first time since their arrival. "I was not asking, Kate."

The girl looked a little startled by the tone of voice that he took with her, much as she had earlier on that day when he had warned her against her choice of words in front of Anne and Philippe. She seemed to hesitate for a moment and simply look at him, unsure of what she should do before a knock on the door sounded and thus spared her from having to make a choice. His gaze was distracted just long enough for Katherine to turn her body out of his grasp and catch sight of the figure who moved elegantly through the door before she was instantly down on a knee, her head bent low. "Your Majesty."

It had taken her a moment to recognize the face beneath the hooded cloak that she wore, especially since there was no elaborate gown that would identify her as the Dowager Queen either. Instead it was a dress of simple grey that lacked the usual volume of her other dresses, her body void of all jewels as her dark locks hung loose around her shoulders. And the smile she wore as she looked down at Katherine was one of a motherly nature, which only added to the growing discomfort that she felt in the pit of her stomach.

"Please," the older woman said as she stepped forward and offered Katherine a hand to bring her back to her feet. "I should be at your feet. You have given me back a part of my life I had long thought to be lost." At that her eyes turned slightly to glance over at D'Artagnan, who sat on the bed open-mouthed and still shirtless from before.

"Anne..."

Sensing that she was intruding upon a private moment, Katherine bobbed her another curtsey and hurried toward the door without waiting to be dismissed, praying that the Queen had not been followed that night for any reason.

"Kate." She had half pulled the door aside and paused at the calling of her name, turning slowly to look back at D'Artagnan with the same distant eyes that he had seen before his lover had entered the room. "Our conversation is not over."

With a quick look out the door, Katherine edged toward it a little more before she looked back, glancing between the two. "Please...be careful."

There was no time for either to respond before she had slipped out the door and closed the door behind her, leaving them alone. In an instant, Anne had crossed the distance that lay between them and leaned across the bed, claiming his lips in a powerful kiss that instantly sent them into a battle of dominance. He was absolutely breathless from the way that she had attacked him, initially shocked by force with which she had started to kiss him before his body merely accepted her presence and moved to wrap his arms around her tiny waist.

When at last they parted Anne was seated across D'Artagnan's lap with her own arms wound around his neck, fingers entangled in his hair as both of their chests heaved from the passionate moment they had shared. "I thought you were dead," she whispered sadly, leaning forward to bury her face against his shoulder. "I thought I would never see you again." D'Artagnan for his part simply cradled her as best as he could against his chest, eyes closed as he inhaled her familiar scent.

His fingers stroked her hair gently in a soothing gesture as he tried to keep himself upright, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "I did not think so either," he began, holding her close. "But God smiled down on me and gave me a second chance. He brought me my son...and he brought me you."

Anne pulled back slowly from him, allowing her eyes to fully take in his face before she shifted herself in his lap and gently placed a hand against his chest to push him back against the pillows. His own blue eyes were so entranced with having her so close to him again that he did not resist her movements, nor did he complain when she laid herself down beside him, resting her head on his arm. "She saved you." He turned his head a little to look down at her, initially confused by her words and the turn in conversation. Anne in turn lifted her own head a little, tilting her gaze upward until it met with his. "The girl...the daughter of Aramis. She was the one who saved you." He exhaled slowly, lifting his head to fall back against the pillows with a resigned sigh.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Louis tried to kill Philippe, and I got in the way. The only reason I am still alive is because of Katherine."

Her fingers gently traced patterns against the bare skin of his chest as her mind wandered back to the night that he had left the red rose for her at the end of the path that lead to her chapel. She had watched him then, absent-mindedly touching her lips as she remembered the last time that they had shared a kiss at the risk of being found out. It had almost felt as if he had been saying his final farewell to her from a safe distance that would not incriminate either of them. But she remembered his uniform as well, the black one that had been worn in the days when her husband had been king before Louis had retired the colour entirely. It was then that she had come to realize that something else was going on.

"Louis still does not know," Anne whispered softly, pressing her cheek to him. Immediately he understood her words, knowing that there would not have been a chance to tell him the truth of his parentage before he and Philippe were switched. And while D'Artagnan had watched over Louis all his life from afar, he feared what it would mean for Anne if ever the truth were to be told to him, for Louis was a vengeful spirit who thirsted for the blood of others.

"Perhaps it is better that way," he murmured a little sadly. As much as it would pain him to have a son not recognize him as the father that he was, he knew in his heart that the truth would never be accepted by Louis...nor could anyone else have that knowledge in their hands. It would endanger everyone around him, most especially Anne and Philippe, for their part in that truth. "Louis was raised to believe that he was the son of a King...to have him learn the truth could be fatal for all of us."

Her eyes closed softly as she breathed deeply for a moment before pushing herself lightly off of his chest. D'Artagnan watched her with questioning eyes as Anne gave him a soft smile. "You need to rest, my love," she whispered, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to his lips. D'Artagnan accepted this without complaint until she pulled away from him and began to move toward the edge of the bed, making to leave the room entirely when he reached up and caught her fingertips.

"Anne."

She turned back to him, a little startled at how forward his actions were when compared to their normal encounters. "When will I see you again?"

The Dowager Queen again smiled down at him, wrapping her fingers around his hand for a brief moment. "I shall never be far, my love."

Taking this as her silent promise to return to him again soon, he allowed her fingers to gradually slip out of his own and watched as she pulled her hood back over her face yet again before she travelled to the door. There she paused, looking back at him for but a moment before she caught herself and slipped silently away. He could feel his heart pounding where he lay, swelling at having seen her such a short while after his arrival with the promise of more visits to come. His head rolled lightly to the side, his blue eyes looking over toward the flickering flames in the hearth before they closed slowly and D'Artagnan fell into a much needed sleep with a small smile placed on his lips.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey all, here's another chapter. If you're bored with it, please don't be for too long. I'm hoping to keep you on your toes for a bit with certain things, so if you're interested in where things are going, please let me know! The comments of liking the story are great, but tell me what you like and what you'd like to see and maybe you'll get some of it. You never know, right? Anyway, here's another instalment to keep you all looking forward to more.**

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"What do you expect her to do, Aramis? Come sobbing to you when something is bothering her in the hopes that you can fix everything? She is not a child anymore."

Aramis closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as Athos spoke to him, knowing his friend to be right, though he didn't care to admit it aloud. Everything seemed to have changed in the days since Philippe's rescue from the Bastille. D'Artagnan was on the mend and being carefully watched by Katherine at all times, and while the three of them were now safe with the knowledge that they need not fear any kind of punishment from their king there was still the issue of his daughter that plagued his mind constantly. The time he had spent in the chapel earlier with Philippe and Anne had been a moment of reflection for the priest, who prayed fervently to God to give him some kind of way to end the madness they seemed to be spiralling into. There had yet to be any kind of response that he could recognize, which had left him to return to his room and begin pacing back and forth across the rug until Athos had come knocking, Porthos in tow.

"No, she is not," he agreed, dropping his hand away from his nose. "But she is still my child, in whatever sense of the word. And even though she will not talk about it, I know there is something wrong."

He had raised Katherine from that tiny infant who had been left on his doorstep nearly twenty years ago, ignoring the protests of the other priests that their life was not one intended for a child. There had been something about her that had quickly grabbed Aramis by the heart and held on tightly to it, refusing to let him live another moment of his life without a thought for the babe. Now she was a young woman of twenty, and while most girls were betrothed or married at this age, he could still remember the day that she had come to him and asked not to be placed in an arranged marriage at all. And while he had initially been unsure of how to handle such a request from a girl, he eventually agreed. The old priest gave a soft sigh, slowly rising to his feet again as he resumed his pacing back and forth across the room.

"You saw it too, Athos. I know you saw it in that meeting with Philippe."

From where he leaned against the fireplace mantle, Athos knew that he couldn't deny that fact. He shifted his arms and folded them tightly over his chest, glancing over toward Porthos as they both took note of just how slowly Aramis seemed to move about the room. "I saw a great many things in that room," he said almost cryptically, not yet wishing to bring about the topic of D'Artagnan and the Queen. "Including how quickly Kate fell silent because of looks she got from you and the way in which D'Artagnan spoke to her."

The relationship she shared with each of the four men had been different over the years as they watched her grow, taking on various roles that would help to shape the woman she had become. Aramis had always been the father figure, the one to enforce the use of manners and an importance of prayer so that she would not be lead astray by temptation. Athos had brought Raoul along to be her playmate in their early years, believing that it would be good for the two of them to interact with children closer to their own age and not simply the adults they were otherwise surrounded by. Her ability to love things at a glance had come from Porthos, who had also managed to teach her the importance of knowing how to find joy in the simplest of things without settling for them. But it was D'Artagnan who had first begun instructing the girl to fight with a sword, feeling that her ability to defend herself might one day save her life. and yet, in teaching her that, he also passed on a lesson that he had learned from Athos long ago. Killing was not necessarily the answer to a problem, but an ultimate end if there was nothing else she could do in order to save herself or someone else from suffering an undeserved fate.

Porthos adjusted his stance a little, glancing between his two friends. "Maybe she is just uncomfortable," he suggested, resting a closed fist against his hip. "She has never been this close to the palace before, and now she's being summoned before a king."

Had they been discussing almost any other girl, there might have been some sense in his words, Athos thought. The life that Katherine lead with Aramis in the monastery was far simpler than the one that Philippe would now have in the palace, void of material objects and elaborate clothing that would otherwise distinguish a poor girl from a Queen. But of course, they were not talking of just any girl. They were talking of Katherine, the one girl who mattered the most in their lives.

"We cannot make her tell us what is hurting her," reasoned Athos slowly. "When she is ready to speak, she'll go to someone that she trusts."

The unasked question now became just who she would turn to when she was ready. She knew just how close the four friends were, and so the chances of her coming to one of them were much lower than they had ever been because she would know that they would discuss it behind closed doors. Not because they wished to share her secrets, but because they loved her dearly and would all wish to find a way in which to help her cope.

Aramis continued his slow pacing across the room, eyes downcast and staring intently as if the floor itself could offer up a solution to the predicament he now faced. These were the moments he had dreaded as he watched his daughter blossom into a beautiful young woman, knowing that his experiences and skills as a musketeer could not prepare him for the situations he would face as a father. Swords could not help him ease her fears, nor could prayer allow her to open her heart to him if she was intent on keeping something hidden deep within herself.

"She will not have forgiven Louis for nearly killing D'Artagnan," he spoke gruffly as he came to a stop and tilted his head to look at both men. "And in seeing Philippe she may very well continue to connect the two of them in her mind. She does not know him as we do." It was a bit of a stretch, he admitted to himself, but it was at least something for them to begin building upon.

Porthos looked confused. "Why would she hate Philippe if she knows nothing about him?" Aramis sighed, scratching his head a little as he continued to think the entire thing through. "I cannot be sure."

An uncomfortable silence fell upon them as each man pondered the reasons behind such a thing. It was a dangerous thought to have, hating the man who sat on the throne, and while they were all sure that Philippe would do nothing about it if he were to find out, they couldn't help but fear the treasonous thought that probably ran rampant in Katherine's mind. Such thoughts had often prompted people into taking action against the threat that they saw, and very seldom did something like that end well for the person involved. Louis had been ruthless against people who questioned his superiority during his reign, but Philippe was inexperienced and young in comparison. That would put Katherine in a much more precarious position if ever she were to act upon such thoughts. Not even they could risk the safety of Philippe's reign as King of France.

"What do we do?" Porthos asked quietly, clearly as concerned about the situation as they all were.

There was no immediate answer, for none of them knew what the answer was. Finding themselves in difficult situations had been a part of their lives for so long that they had grown accustomed to finding a way out of it...but not when the matter was so personal in nature. "We keep this from D'Artagnan," Aramis decided. "At least until he has healed enough to be included." They all nodded in agreement, knowing that such news would come as a terrible blow for the already wounded man. Adding to the strain of his recovery would be heartless on their part. "And we keep a careful eye on everything."

Plans had been set in motion to help cover up the strange happenings around the castle since the night of the masquerade, beginning with a ceremony that would honour all four men for saving the life of the King from a plot to place an imposter on the throne. Philippe was certain that they would then be able to continue their lives as if nothing had happened at all, ensuring them all to be safe in the future. But until such a ceremony could be had and the ball that followed was over and done with, Aramis would not be able to relax. Only when he and Katherine were back to leading their quiet lives at the monastery and away from the chaos of court would he be secure in the knowledge that all was well.

"Philippe wishes to have this ceremony as soon as D'Artagnan is able," Athos murmured. "None of us knows how long that may be, for nobody but Katherine ministers to him."

Aramis nodded, staring into the flickering fire as he searched for some kind of answer. "Let it continue that way, unless either Philippe or the Queen request a change. At least then we shall know what is going on at all times."

Porthos nodded his head in consent, looking to Athos who followed suit. They were not out of danger yet, he decided, far from it. And until Philippe was secure in his new role as King, the dangers would only continue to pile up until something either laid them all to rest or brought about a suspicion that would rock the throne once again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Here's yet another chapter for you all to peruse! Hopefully you all find that this is moving along at a decent pace, and I'm sure you're still wondering when things are going to become a little clearer between the characters. Please keep reading if you want to find out! And for anyone who does read this, I would love to hear your feedback! **

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**Chapter X**

"From Her Majesty, Queen Anne."

The servant who appeared before her knelt down on the carpet of her bedroom floor as he offered out the box he carried in his hands to her. She had only newly returned after stoking the fire in D'Artagnan's room to keep him warm when he awoke to find someone knocking on her door with a letter from the Queen in his hand. Before she could speak, he had set the box down before her and risen to offer out the letter, which she took gingerly from his grasp. The servant then gave her a low bow and retreated from the room, leaving Katherine alone to ponder the contents of the box and the reason behind yet another gift from Queen Anne in such a short span of time. With quivering fingers she broke the royal seal that kept the edges of the letter shut together and approached the window, using the coming sunshine to read the carefully written words that were clearly from the Queen's own hand.

_Again I find that words fail when I wish to express my thanks for the part you have played in recent events. I pray that you accept these as a gift from me for my gratitude, and I am sure that you shall be able to find a use for them in the near future. It would bring me great pride to see you wear them, as I feel the colour would compliment your beautiful eyes rather well. _

_Anne_

Lowering the letter from her sight, Katherine turned her eyes back to the box she had left sitting on the floor and slowly made her way back toward it. The Queen had signed her letter with simply her first name, disregarding the fact that she had been born far above the position in life that Katherine occupied. She had addressed her so easily the night before, with a gentle ease that one would expect a Queen to possess...and yet without the formalities and courtly restrictions she would have thought to hear. She folded the letter and lay it on the edge of the bed before she knelt down on the floor, moving her skirt to surround her a little as she did. With a moment of hesitation, Katherine finally reached forward and pushed the top of the box out of the way. What she saw inside took her breath away and caused the girl to freeze momentarily where she sat before a hand gently reached forward to stroke the soft damask material on the front of the gown. Subtle accents of silver could be seen to decorate the dark blue colour that the Queen had chosen, for reasons that she still did not understand. Yet Katherine had never seen anything so beautiful in her life, nothing that she had owned anyway. There was no need for such finery back at the monastery.

So why would the Queen send her such a thing? What possible reason could she have for giving Katherine a piece of such elaborate clothing without having a reason to wear it? Between the shock of seeing something so strange to her eyes and the confusion she felt at having received such a gift, Katherine couldn't bring herself to do anything more than close the top of the box and move herself away from it. Oh God, forgive me, she thought with a glance upward. She lead a simple life and had never needed such things in her life, which she had always thought to be the tools of vanity and outrageous spending. And yet upon seeing it she had felt butterflies appear in the pit of her stomach because she could do nothing be envision how stunning it may look upon her body. That alone was enough of a sin to prompt Katherine to go to her father and ask him to absolve her of her sin...but that could wait until later. What she needed to do now was distance herself from the box and carry on with whatever else required her attention for the day, starting with her own body.

Nobody aside from herself had looked at the wound on her side since Athos had dressed it back in the monastery, and with D'Artagnan being in far worse shape than herself, she wasn't eager to remind people of its existence. Having such attention right now would be of no benefit at all, she thought as she slowly pulled at the shirt she wore until she managed to peel it away from her body. It was an exhausting movement as she stretched her side in order to pull the material away, looking down at the bandage that Athos had tied around her almost three days previous. All of her supplies were back in the other room where she had used them to tend to D'Artagnan, and so the girl had simply removed the bandage and attempted to clean it as best as she could before she shifted the bandage around to a cleaner section and retied it. The flesh around the outside was beginning to look red in colour, and it burned violently every time she placed the bandage back against it to bind it tightly. And every time she removed it, there were fresh stains to tell that it was not yet healing the way it should. Katherine had quickly dismissed this as being because of the amount of moving and travelling she had done over the past several days, noting that her body was in far better condition to move about than that of her uncle. That was all it was, she told her firmly as she laboured to pull the shirt back onto her body and held her side gingerly. It was just from the moving.

Breathing slowly so as to keep herself from getting dizzy, Katherine began tucking her shirt unto the top of her skirt and moved over toward the small mirror and brush that had been set on the chest of drawers for her use. Her hair had fallen into a state of disarray since last she had tended to it, with random strands falling out while others looked closer to standing on end. Sighing at the spectacle that she was, she began to pull her hair out of the customary braid that she wore it in and untangled a few pieces with her fingers, letting her dark locks run their course down to the middle of her back. It had grown quite long since the last time she had cut part of it away, perhaps it was almost time to do so again, she thought as she tilted her head to examine it in the mirror. Letting it grow too long would not be healthy for her hair, not that anyone would notice. Unlike some people, Katherine wore it out of her face and in a practical fashion so that she could proceed with her everyday life, choosing not to put it into some kind of fashion that might attract attention from other people. Her father surely wouldn't approve of that at all. She picked up the brush with delicate fingers, noting its heavy weight as she began to run it through her hair to remove any knots that had formed in her sleep. Each stroke was slow and gentle to prevent any unwanted tugging, beginning near the ends of her hair and gradually moving upward. And while she worked, Katherine began to hum absent mindedly.

Another knock on the door startled the girl a little as her humming came to an abrupt end, glancing over her shoulder for a moment. It wasn't likely to be another servant, since the last one had arrived so unexpectedly, but her father or one of her other uncles coming to check on her. "Come in," she called lightly, turning her eyes back to the mirror for a brief moment in order to finish. "Have you been in to see him at all today?" she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she set the brush down again. "He was looking-" The girl gasped, eyes wide for a moment before she dropped down to her knees again and lowered her head, her hair brushing the floor and her teeth gritting a little against the pain that erupted in her side from the sudden movement. "Your Majesty."

For the second time, she found herself turning around to face a member of the royal family, but not the Queen as she had seen the night before. Instead it was Philippe who stood there, alone and in clothing far simpler than what he had worn when he greeted them yesterday. He smiled down at her for a moment before he moved forward and gently touched her chin with his hand.

"I much prefer Philippe, if you please." That same hand dropped down to wrap around her fingers and bring her slowly to her feet once more, leaving the girl with a rather startled look upon her face as she remembered how inappropriately dressed she was to receive him.

"Your Majesty, I pray you forgive my appearance," she stammered quickly, dropping her eyes again. "I was not expecting...well..."

"You were not expecting _me_," he finished softly, letting his fingers fall away from her own. "I understand. Though I do wish you would look at me."

The way in which she had been brought up had taught Katherine never to make eye contact with the King, not that she had ever imagined she would have the chance to do so. And yet, when he asked her in such a gentle tone of voice, without command or harsh order, she couldn't help but allow her blue eyes to slowly look up into his face, really seeing him for the first time since his mask had been removed back in the Bastille. His smile widened ever so slightly as she did so, which did not escape her notice.

"With all of the commotion my brother caused, we wanted to cover it up with something that would throw all suspicion off of D'Artagnan and the others," he began. "I would like to discuss it with you, if you'll permit me." Katherine couldn't hardly believe her ears. The King of France had come to ask for her opinion on something? While she had also been included in the summons to court initially, she did not think she had made a very good impression upon Philippe or his mother when they had gathered together to begin discussing what was to be done with his brother. And yet here he was, dressed as if he were not King at all.

"I am but a humble servant to Your Majesty," she replied slowly, watching him with wary eyes.

"But I do not wish for you to see yourself as such," Philippe replied earnestly, leaning toward her a little. The closeness to her King was an uncomfortable one for Katherine, who took a small step backward in response and earned herself a small sigh from his lips for her trouble. "Would you walk with me in the garden?"

Now Katherine was incredibly unsure. "If you wish, Your Majesty."

Philippe slowly offered his arm to her, noting the hesitant look upon her face before he offered her yet another gentle smile, much like the one that Queen Anne had given her before. "You need not worry about your appearance," he said smoothly. "It is only you and I."

She wasn't thoroughly convinced that she liked the idea of being seen in such a state while on the arm of the King, but she dared not refuse him. Stepping beside him Katherine took the arm that Philippe offered as lightly as possible and allowed him to escort her from the room and down the corridor, rounding a corner which lead them to a short flight of stairs at the very end. There was nobody else about, no sign of her father, her uncles...nothing. It was if that entire part of the palace had been reserved strictly for their use and nothing further. Tapestries hung on almost every wall with suits of armour from older times on display to decorate each of the corridors that they strolled down together until at last Philippe managed to lead them toward the garden.

And what a beautiful garden it was, she thought as she looked around in awe. Roses, violets, daffodils...almost any flower that Katherine could name turned the green space before them into a modern version of Eden, with trees and fountains placed in the shrubbery to add delicate accents to the endless colour wheel. She looked around with a bright smile as her skin soaked up the rays of sunshine, immediately feeling a little warm beneath her skirt and shirt as her eyes roamed around eagerly to drink in the sight.

"It's absolutely beautiful," she whispered, pausing a moment to lean over and smell a growing rose. "Our gardens back at the monasterydo not even compare." Blue eyes lifted to look around her at the perfectly manicured pathways that lead between the sections of flora, trees standing every so often to provide shade for the benches that also sat nearby. White, red, yellow, blue and purple all swirled together as if a painter had put the whole thing together on his canvas...and Katherine was absolutely entranced.

"I thought you might like it out here," Philippe said gently as they began their casual stroll again. "It's not as stuffy as some of the rooms in the palace." Katherine turned her head to look at him with a bright smile, flattered that he had chosen to share such a moment with her.

"Your Majesty is very kind."

"Please," he said. "Philippe."

Katherine nodded. "Philippe," she repeated.

The two strolled for a while longer as he watched her face light up with each new flower that they encountered, noting just how interested she genuinely was in the beauty of the place he was to call home. She never once seemed to notice how closely he watched her, simply continuing to look around her with a gentle ease that he had not seen in her at all since her arrival at the palace. There was no more tension in her body, no sign at all that she was uneasy around him now that she was aware of who he was and what role he was to play in life. And while he couldn't fully place the feeling, there was something about her that made Philippe feel just a little more confident in what was to come. Even though the others insisted that France would be in far better hands while he was on the throne in place of his brother, he still had an image that he needed to maintain and a job that needed to be accomplished. His people would look to him for a brighter future, where they no longer had to worry about starving or becoming sick from rotten food, where they could flourish under the light of the sun without fear of their king stamping out the light of their lives all together. It was a great undertaking for a young man who had spent nearly twenty-two years of his life without knowing who he truly was. And now was the ultimate test, as he prepared to lie to people for the first time in his life in order to keep safe the people who meant the most to him.

"Katherine, I-"

"Kate," she said quickly as she turned to look back at him and laugh gently at the stunned look upon his face. "If you insist that I call you Philippe privately, then I insist that you call me Kate."

His face relaxed a little when he met the gaze from her bright blue eyes, gesturing down for her to take a place on the small bench beneath the shade of a tree, which she did as elegantly as possible. "Kate, I know that you and I do not know much about one another," he began, allowing himself to occupy the space beside her. "But I wanted to speak with you about the story we are using to cover up what happened that night at the Bastille."

The very mention of that dreadful place brought a shiver to her spine as she remembered the horrible images of the people who she had had to leave behind in their cells. It still made her stomach churn to think that anyone could permit anyone to live in such a state, though she had to remind herself that none of what she had seen was Philippe's fault.

"Have you invented something?" she asked him, folding her hands in her lap and twisting her fingers slightly.

He nodded to her. "We have. We want to tell the public that a plot was uncovered to remove me from my throne using an imposter with an uncanny resemblance to me."

Katherine nodded, tucking part of her hair behind her ear with a fidgety hand. That much made sense to her, as anyone who might have heard or seen anything at all that night could easily be persuaded to believing that as the truth. After all, she had seen the twins herself and had been rather surprised by just how similar they really were in appearance.

"We would then say that it was Athos, Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan who uncovered the plot and removed the imposter before he could establish himself as King...and that D'Artagnan was stabbed when the imposter tried to flee from custody." Katherine closed her eyes tightly and bowed her head, trying to block out the images of that night as she watched D'Artagnan's body fall from his injury. It was still there in her mind, a vivid picture of what she had nearly lost that night when a father had prepared to sacrifice himself for his son.

"What is it you wish me to say?" She understood how they had taken the truth of the matter and turned it into something else, but why was he consulting her on it when it seemed that the entire plan was set in motion already? She didn't understand, nor did she see why it was that he would ask for the opinion of a girl who was barely involved when the three men who had hatched the initial plot had already given him their thoughts.

"I wish to know what you think...will it pass?"

She bit down on her lip a little as she considered it, wondering how perhaps she might feel if she were not now integrated into the scheme. There were a considerable number of things that needed to be thought about before they proceeded, but none as critical as what they were going to do with Louis. It had already been made clear that neither Anne nor Philippe wished to leave him in the Bastille to rot, though Katherine would have been perfectly happy with that suggestion. And yet, to allow him to live freely in the manner that Philippe had before his imprisonment still made him a threat to the future of France because he was aware of who he was...mostly.

"If your people are to hear about this, they will want to know who it was that tried to displace you, and who the imposter was," she thought aloud, staring straight ahead of her. "The people do not love Louis, and I doubt that they will if you were to say that the men responsible for this plot were executed." He could almost swear he saw her mind working as he watched her eyes, for they were so focused on what she was saying now that he too found himself considering the scenarios she painted. "But," she said, shifting her body to angle in his direction. "If you were to publicly announce the plot and how it was stopped...then say that you set the would-be imposter free, they might be impressed by your show of mercy."

Philippe nodded, slowly beginning to understand what it was that she was going after as her thoughts continued to progress forward. "And what about those who would were responsible for the plot in the first place?"

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but hesitated as she reconsidered her words and turned her head a little in thought. "Showing mercy to the imposter might be all you need to gain favour from the people. But for a crime of treason such as this, any king would put them to death. The issue then becomes that the execution would be public, to set an example to anyone else who might think to try such a thing." She chewed on the inside of her lip. That wasn't going to work if they were to cover up the way in which her father and uncles had actually been involved in this plot. And it would be far too dangerous to stage anything else, even with criminals who had committed other crimes. It would not be fair to condemn any man to death for a crime of which he was completely innocent, D'Artagnan would not stand for that. "Death would almost be kinder...but you could tell them that you chose to throw them into the Bastille. There can be no other form of mercy for them." It seemed so cruel, banishing those non-existent people into that place, but the story had to be strong enough to hold and that was the only way it could happen. They all had to be kept safe.

"It may very well work," said Philippe as he thought about it a little more. "I am to meet with Aramis and my mother in a short while to discuss the details of the story." Katherine turned her head to look over at him, tilting it slightly as she took him into her own consideration. In the days since his rescue from the Bastille she had come to know absolutely nothing about the young man, except that he was the twin brother of the King and in fact royal only through his mother. Aside from those facts, she had distanced herself from him as much as possible out of hatred and respect, knowing that he was now the man who lead her country.

"Was there anything else?"

The King lifted his head a little and gave it a small shake, obviously reminding himself of the main reason he had wished to speak with her. "Part of the cover involves a ceremony in which I honour your father and the others for saving my life, with a ball to be held afterward," he said, shifting uncomfortably on the bench beside her. "I know this may seem forward of me...but I was hoping that you would be present for all of it." Her heart seemed to stop for a moment as she watched his sheepish expression, questioning whether or not she had heard him correctly. That must have been why Queen Anne had sent that box to her earlier, knowing that her own wardrobe would not serve at such an event. "I cannot be with D'Artagnan to make sure that he is alright, and I do not trust anyone else to be near him."

So that was it, she thought as the annoyance began to bubble in the pit of her stomach once more. He asked her to come only so that she could supervise and make sure that her uncle did not collapse during the ceremony itself. There was no other reason for her to be there, for seldom few people knew that Aramis had adopted her as a child. In the eyes of the court, she did not exist. And now, despite the way he had initially made her feel as if she could contribute to the cover they were formulating, Philippe had made it incredibly clear that she was merely a pawn in a game of chess. Her thoughts meant absolutely nothing to him at all.

"With all he has been through, I would never allow anyone else to care for him."

There was an edge to her words, but Philippe was so relieved that she had agreed that he either did not notice or did not care. Instead he reached out and gently took hold of her hand, finding that it was warmer than he thought it would be. "Thank you," he said softly, giving it a small squeeze.

Not trusting herself to speak again for fear of what she might say in anger, Katherine slowly rose to her feet and gave Philippe a silent curtsey, bowing her head and dropping her eyes. She held her position there for but a moment before she moved backward the required number of steps and turned away, moving along one of the green pathways and back into the palace. He did not move to follow her, she noticed as she rounded the corner and headed back to her room. He didn't have to. His task of getting her to go to the ceremony had been accomplished, his request for her to watch over D'Artagnan had been granted. There was no further reason for him to keep her in his presence, and she knew it. But if he thought that this was over between them and that her resentment toward him had vanished, then Philippe had thought wrong.


	11. Chapter 11

**Here is yet another chapter! I'm so sorry this one is coming after such a gap of time, but I needed something to fit in between the other chapters that I had previously written, and this one gave me far more trouble than I anticipated. Thank you so much for your patience, and thank you to those of you who have recently favourited and/or followed me and my story! This is only the first of many that I plan on writing, and I'd love to hear your opinions! Reviews are always appreciated, and constructive feedback if you have any is welcome as well. Just remember that I won't tolerate flamers, because well...they're damn annoying.**

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**Chapter XI**

"Mademoiselle?"

Katherine jumped back a little, a hand flying to her chest as she felt her heart momentarily stop beating from the shock of hearing a voice so close to her ear, turning sharply to look at who it was that had called for her attention. From the shadow of the corner she had just passed stepped a familiar figure, looking at her with an expression of slight concern written across his handsome face. His hands were folded behind his back and his boots tread lightly across the carpeted floor of the corridor as he approached her, allowing her to see his face in the light and breathe a small sigh of relief when she came to realize just who it was that had wandered down the corridor.

"Monsieur Tolbert," she said softly, allowing her hand to fall back to her side. "You startled me."

At this the man gave a soft chuckle and moved a little further into the corridor, circling around to the other side of her with the same slow pacing that she had so often seen her Uncle use in times of deep thought. "I believe this is the second time that I have done so. Forgive me."

But Katherine shook her head a little, offering him a small smile in return. "There is no need to apologize," she said lightly, as if the issue bore no consequence at all. "I suppose a Musketeer must learn to move about the palace quietly so as not to be observed by anyone. It would be of great use to you in battle I am sure."

The Musketeer ducked his head a little in a failed effort to hide the smile of his own that was growing on his lips beneath the thin line of growth that had begun to show on his upper lip in the same auburn as the hair that sat on his head. He was without his hat this time, she noted carefully, observing the differences in his appearance from the last time they had encountered one another. His sword still hung around his waist though, an essential piece to his uniform regardless of the occasion. Even when called before the King himself, she knew that his men wore their weaponry in case any danger should surface, at which time they would be able to defend their King with their very lives if necessary. Her father and uncles had spoken of doing such a thing many times when a young child had asked the questions that lurked in her curious heart, having watched them in fascination as they donned their uniforms and prepared to leave the monastery once again.

"We are taught that any skill is an asset to our profession," he answered smoothly, holding out his hand to her as he bent himself a little at the waist. Again she lifted one of her smaller hands and laid it gently in his, watching as he touched his lips again to her knuckles and then allowed her to take it back in the same smooth motion as before.

"Forgive me for asking, but are you alright? You seemed to be in rather a hurry to leave the gardens just now. Was someone bothering you?"

Turning her head to look back down the corridor, Katherine realized that she could no longer see the way she had taken to come from the very place that she had left Philippe, and in her mind that seemed to mean only one thing. Tolbert must have been watching her for much longer than it would take to round a corner.

"No," she told him, hoping that he did not know it was with Philippe that she had previously been, for she knew how it would probably look if he were to find out that the pair had been alone together in the garden thanks to the reputation Louis had established. "There was no one. I am afraid I am just not comfortable here in the palace."

She knew that she had told him a lie when it came to the company she had been keeping, and for that she would need to go and beg for forgiveness before God. But her disliking of being in the palace could not have been closer to the truth. She was used to a far smaller space in the monastery, without the finery of court and the numerous guards and servants wandering around as they did the bidding of some high lord or another.

Things were far simpler for her back home.

The young man nodded as he gathered his hands behind his back once more, moving a small step forward to a more familiar spacing between them. "I wish there was some way in which I could help you," he said, his eyes locking onto her own as he spoke in his gentle tone.

It was this softness that made Katherine smile a little at him, dropping her eyes for a moment as she felt the burning of a blush begin to creep into her cheeks. "Monsieur is too kind," she murmured, unsure of whether to move herself away from him a little or maintain the closeness in which they stood.

She had no experience with young men, and so found herself in a situation that she could not easily cope with as she had so often in the past. This was entirely new, causing a lightness in her stomach that Katherine had never before experienced. And yet she did not find the sensation to be unpleasant either, a fact that brought forth a small amount of confusion in the young woman as she stood under the tender gaze of Tolbert, alone in the corridor.

"If I may," he began slowly, turning his head slightly to glance in either direction and ensure that they were alone. "Perhaps I could be of assistance in this matter?"

It struck her as being a rather odd request from a young man who knew nothing of her, but Katherine found herself lifting her head to look at him with a curious expression upon her face. "Assistance?" she asked him with the same quizzical air. "I am curious to know how you might assist me. I shan't be a guest of His Majesty for much longer, I am sure."

Despite Philippe's questions from earlier about how best to go about covering up the chaos that they had found themselves in, Katherine had been fairly certain that she would return to her quiet life at the monastery in a short while. Of course, D'Artagnan was not well enough to endure the journey back with her, for the one leading to the palace had been incredibly slow and all together too painful for the young woman to watch as he winced and grit his teeth with every bump in the road. And yet there was none that she could trust with his care, afraid that perhaps someone else might come in and neglect him in a way that she never could. So it seemed that she would be staying for a while longer, she realized, at least until this ceremony nonsense was safely behind them and any suspicion was removed from her father and uncles. Tolbert continued to look down at her with the same soft gaze, making it rather difficult for Katherine to maintain any sort of eye contact with him.

"If you will permit me, I have an idea."

His lack of explanation only proved to be a further lure to Katherine as they stood together in the corridor, a small touch of a smile appearing in the corner of her lips. Was it improper? Perhaps it was, but as someone who was not at all familiar with the ways in which people her age were meant to interact, especially at court, Katherine found herself nodding in agreement.

"Very well. What idea is this?"

A smile broke out onto his face when he saw that there would be no resistance from Katherine, and so the young man boldly reached forward and wrapped his gloved hand around her smaller one. "If you meet me in the courtyard in half an hour, I will show you."

He gave her no further time to respond before he gave her hand a squeeze and released it all at once, hurrying his way down the corridor with only a silent wave of farewell. Rooted to where she stood, Katherine was speechless as she watched him move away, the only sign of her recognizing his words was the small movement that came from her hand as she too seemed to wave goodbye. But at all once she came to, and her mind immediately started to whirl around with thoughts of what he could possibly have in store for her to help make her more comfortable around the palace. And she only had a half hour to prepare herself?! Without further ado she turned on her heel and rushed back for a familiar sight, hoping to make it back to her room in time to make herself a little more presentable before she headed down to meet Tolbert in the courtyard.

She didn't know what he had in store for her, but she was certainly excited.

She was nearly breathless when she at last made it down to the courtyard to find a rather dashing young man waiting patiently for her to arrive. His hands were again folded behind his back as he slowly moved along the edge of the fountain where first he had met Katherine days before, but he no longer wore the uniform of a Musketeer. Gone were the gloves, the hat, the sword and the dark blue material of his tunic, having been replaced with a simple white shirt that covered his chest and arms while tucking nicely into the top of his pants. For a moment Katherine couldn't believe that they were one in the same person at all, until at last he turned around at the sound of her approach and offered her a bright smile. It was almost as if he had been pacing in anxious worry, afraid that the young woman would rebuff his invitation and leave him standing there like a fool. But Katherine could bring herself to do no such thing and was immediately glad that she hadn't when those unfamiliar feelings returned to her body at the sight of his smile. Now she was glad that she had taken the time to refresh herself when she had finally found her way back to her room, pulling her hair back up into a more respectable fashion and putting on a fresh shirt of her own. She felt like she was in much better order than she had previously been when Tolbert had found her in the corridor, and that was enough to make Katherine feel a little better about all that had happened in the past few days.

"I am glad you came," he said to her in his soft tone, again kissing the back of her hand with a little bow.

It seemed like such a formal movement, and yet Katherine bore no objection to the attention that he seemed to lavish on her. "How could I not when I received so kind an invitation?" she laughed gently, trying to ignore the tingle she felt in her fingers. "May I ask what it is you plan on doing?"

Tolbert simply smiled, offering Katherine his arm. "Not so much what as where."

The confusion swiftly returned to her bright blue eyes as she slipped her arm around his and looked up at his face once more, allowing his body to gently lead her away from the fountain in the courtyard and along one of the many paths in the garden. "You are being rather secretive, Monsieur," Katherine told him lightly as she allowed him to lead her away from the palace and into the maze of flora that sat at beyond the courtyard. "I'm not so sure that I approve of such a thing in a gentleman."

A hearty laugh sounded from the young man as he continued to lead her slowly from the sights of the palace and into the greenery that surrounded it. As she was still rather unfamiliar with the different places that could be accessed from various points of the palace grounds, Katherine was completely in the dark of where she could possibly be going, her curiosity growing more and more with each passing second.

"On my honour, Mademoiselle, I am not leading you astray. But I sometimes find that a walk can be good for clearing one's head of difficult matters."

It was rather evident by her expression that she did not fully understand what it was that he was alluding to. Of all the possible scenarios that Katherine could have gotten herself into this certainly seemed like the strangest one in recent memory. After all, it wasn't as if she found herself in the company of a man such as this every day. Sure there were men always around her, but those men were always far older than herself and entirely devoted to their way of life within the monastery, which meant that while they respected the young woman that she had become, they did not have the time to spend on young women the way that some of the King's musketeers would.

"What would make you assume that my mind is plagued with difficult matters?" she asked him innocently, allowing her eyes to lift from the path they took and toward his face instead.

_Oh, please do not let me be so readable_, she prayed anxiously in her head. That was something that she believed to be rather unattractive in a woman, especially in those moments when she was clearly distressed about something. And to have such a bold young man on her arm, not to mention a rather handsome one at that, would surely make things worse for her as she attempted to keep her head. But the young man simply smiled at her as they continued on their stroll, taking her deeper and deeper into the foliage where all of the natural beauty was well hidden from prying eyes.

"Your eyes," he murmured to her. "They speak of a heavy weight that sits in your heart...a weight I wish to help lift, if ever I can."

Katherine couldn't believe her ears. Not only had Tolbert seen right through the guise that she had failed to keep in place, but he had also offered himself to her as one whom she could trust, someone who wished to help her better cope with this new change in her life. And all the while, the young musketeer had been nothing if not kind to her, a stranger whom he knew nothing about at all. All he knew was that she was a young woman in a strange place, thrown before the eyes of a King who did not have the best reputation when it came to the young women of his court. Yet he said nothing of what this King might have already said or done...no, he simply looked at her with genuine concern, causing Katherine's heart to melt little within the confines of her chest.

"I am afraid that only time can help me now," she replied softly, her words a bare whisper as she found herself captivated by his gaze.

The young man nodded solemnly, acknowledging her decline of his help for the time being. He stopped their slow walk through the gardens and turned to face her, now taking her one hand in his again as he had before. It was then that his eyes seemed to stare intently into her own, leaving Katherine with a rather tight feeling in her chest, as if her bodice was far tighter than it needed to be. "Then I shall wait until such a time when you may have need of me. I shall remain in wait for your word."

Keeping the same steady eyes upon her, Tolbert bent forward and pressed the back of her hand tightly to his lips, allowing them to linger much longer than they had ever done before and bring forth a tingling sensation in Katherine's spine. Not another word was spoken between them as they both moved to continue their walk. Nothing else needed to be said. For Katherine, words would have failed her if indeed she even attempted to make a sound. But as for her bold companion, he knew that nothing else was required on his part.

Not yet.


	12. Chapter 12

**I apologize that this next chapter has taken so long to be posted. Now that school has begun again and I will find myself facing some twelve plus hour days, I'm afraid that these chapters will continue to come at a much slower pace. But fear not, for I have not forgotten about this story or those of you who wait for me to post again! Feel free to review this and let me know what you think of the story so far! I'm always looking for new opinions and constructive feedback!**

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**Chapter XII**

"Katherine, did you hear me?"

Porthos tilted his head a little when he saw the startled expression on Katherine's face, having noted the distant gaze in her eyes before she suddenly seemed to return to the present moment and realize that he had spoken to her. She had been acting strangely since they had arrived at the palace almost three days earlier, looking rather pale and retreating from the company of others almost immediately after she had finished tending to D'Artagnan. Apparently she went about her tasks in silence now, refusing to even speak to the poor man who was still bound to his bed because his body had not yet recovered enough strength for him to stand and move on his own. Each day she guided him through a walk around the gardens and then lead him back to his room, cracking the windows open to allow for fresh air to reach his lungs. And after she had re-dressed his wound and stoked the fire to keep him warm at night she hurried back to her own room without even so much as a word to Aramis or anyone else. Aramis was growing concerned about her new found habits, which even now were beginning to worry Porthos as he took note of the changes in her person.

"No, I'm sorry Uncle, my mind must have been somewhere else. What was it you asked me?"

The old man frowned a little. "I asked if you had heard what was to happen for the ceremony."

Part of their cover for what had happened between Louis and Philippe was a special ceremony that would honour all of those involved in "saving" the life of the King. After another day and a half of conversation between them the details had finally been settled upon and plans were being made to ensure that the event passed as one of Louis' creation. The palace was being cleaned and the grand ballroom was once again being decorated for use as menus were finalized in the kitchens and invitations were sent out to all of the nobility. And with D'Artagnan seeming to improve everyday, it looked as though he might actually be able to partake without having to lean on Katherine for their walk down the hall to meet the King at the very end.

Katherine shrugged a little, glancing back at him with unconcerned eyes. "Vaguely," she began slowly. "Philippe mentioned some of what he was hoping to accomplish to me the other day, but I was not told any details of the ceremony itself. He only asked how best to turn the attention to those involved in the plot without revealing them to the public."

Ah, so that was where some of those thoughts had manifested, he thought to himself with a grunt. The boy had spoken to Katherine without anyone else around to ask for her opinion on the matter, a fact that he would need to report to Aramis as soon as he was able. He knew that his friend would not be pleased that Philippe had been isolated from the others with Katherine, especially if there was no knowledge of such a meeting occurring.

"Did you discuss anything else?" he asked as casually as possible, though Porthos was not known for his subtlety and instantly had Katherine's eyes on him as she raised a brow in his direction.

"No...why do you ask it in that way?"

Knowing himself to be caught in the middle of something potentially dangerous, Porthos had to think quickly on his feet and tell a bit of a lie. "Well, he is the King of course...but you did help save him from the Bastille. And he would be a foolish boy if he did not take note of how beautiful you are."

That seemed to distract her, for the girl quickly dropped her eyes as her cheeks began to burn brightly from embarrassment. Living in the monastery with Aramis meant that she was constantly surrounded by older men who had taken vows against such feelings toward women, but Porthos had never taken such an oath in his life and would die before he did so. As such, he was more than aware of the fact that nobody had paid his young niece such a compliment in her life, or so he presently thought.

"Regardless of how Philippe may look upon me, Uncle, it does not change our stations," Katherine said firmly, straightening her shoulders a little. "He is the King of France, and I am nothing more than the daughter of a priest...and truthfully am not even that. He simply asked for my thoughts on the matter so that everything was placed perfectly."

Her defences seemed to have risen at his question, Porthos noted as yet something else to bring up to Aramis later that day. But which part was she the most defensive about, he had to wonder, the fact that she had been alone with Philippe or the fact that she was a beautiful girl who had been alone with the King of France? When Louis had been on the throne he might have guessed the later, for that was how the fight between Louis and Athos had begun, over the King's desire to bed his son's love. Perhaps being reminded of the King that they had before, when coupled with the resemblance they bore to one another, had put Katherine in a bad position and immediately made her suspect what was happening around her. Whatever the reason, there was still reason to be cautious when it came to the time that the two younger people spent together. As much as Porthos did not believe that his beloved niece would harm the boy, he could not rule anything out until they had dug down to the root of the problem.

A soft sigh fell from Katherine's lips as she turned back down the corridor from which they came, her movements a little slower than they normally were. "I have to go," she murmured softly. "I need to tend to D'Artagnan."

Porthos gave a firm nod and rose to his own feet, wrapping the girl in a firm hug as he held her to his chest for a moment in a rare display of affection. "Do what you need to do," he told her, giving a bit of a squeeze before he released her entirely. "If anyone can get him on his feet for the ceremony it is you."

In response Katherine offered a weak smile and leaned in to gently kiss the older man on the cheek before she turned and moved away, leaving him alone in the corridor. He watched her go with a mixture of sadness and regret until her lithe form had disappeared around a corner.

"Poor girl," he muttered to himself. "She did not know what she was getting into."

"What on earth are you doing!?"

With his back turned to her from where he sat at the writing desk, D'Artagnan couldn't help but smirk a little as he calmly finished signing his name to the document before him and set the quill back in its holder. He turned himself slowly in the chair and managed to end up sideways before Katherine was kneeling before him with a look of absolute terror written across her face at seeing him out of bed so suddenly. Part of him felt a little guilty, making her feel that way, but he had run out of options. The night that Anne had come into his room to see him was the last time that Katherine had spoken in his presence despite the number of times that she had returned to clean and redress the wound on his back and lead him on a slow walk through the gardens. All of his efforts to engage her in a conversation had failed miserably as the girl avoided his eye and ignored his questions, almost as if he did not exist on her arm at all. Leaning heavily against the back of the chair, D'Artagnan looked down at his niece with a small smile, rather pleased that his plan had worked even though he was going to pay for the movements later.

"Trying to figure out what terrible thing has happened that would stop you from trusting me," he answered in his deep tone, reaching a hand forward to brush against her cheek. "You have not spoken to me since our first night here," he added in a softer, more hurtful voice. "Why is that, Kate?"

The girl stared at him in dismay, her mouth agap as she struggled to find the words of explaination that might get her out of the awkward situation she was now in. "I have not stopped trusting you," she breathed, but D'Artagnan was quick to jump on her words.

"No? Then why do you distance yourself from me? Why do you go on as if we mean nothing to each other?"

She shook her head a little, hands falling into her lap as she twisted her fingers tightly together in the folds of her skirt. "Because...because..."

But the captain was growing impatient, angry even that she could not sum up the reasons behind her change in attitude toward him after twenty years. "Because what, girl!? Spit it out!"

Katherine choked on a sob and dropped her head, burying her face in her hands as she pulled away from him a little and cowered before him like a disobedient child. "Because you don't need me anymore!"

Her answer stunned the captain entirely, causing him to straighten a little in his chair as his blue eyes looked down at the quivering form that huddled into the floor beneath his feet. The sobs that he heard took him aback as he listened in silence, being able to count the number of times he had seen Katherine cry in her lifetime on one hand. And yet here she was, pulling away from him even further because she seemed to believe that he no longer needed her in his life.

"Katherine."

She pulled away from his hand as he moved to reach out to her again, almost sensing what he would do before he had actually decided on the task. Seeing her recoil from him like that hit D'Artagnan hard as he watched the gentle shake that appeared in her shoulders with each small sob that spilled from her lips, utterly breaking his heart to know that she felt that way at all. What exactly he had done, or what she had seen through her own eyes, he did not yet understand. But D'Artagnan was not going to let the matter go quietly, not without further attempts to secure the information from his niece before she bolted completely from his presence.

As slowly and quietly as he was able, the musketeer began to lift his body from the chair and lower himself down to the floor, into the small space that had formed between himself and Katherine. It was a painful journey down that felt as if it took forever to accomplish before he was finally resting on his knees, leaning slightly against the chair for support. He took but a moment to catch his breath before he reached forward and gently pulled Katherine to him until her head rested in his lap and he could gently stroke her hair.

"Kate," he murmured gently, a hint of sadness in his tone. "Why would you think such a thing? You know that I would not be alive if it were not for you."

She shook her head in his lap, pressing her cheek to the top of his thigh. "Because it's true. You have your own family to care for now...you need not pretend that I mean anything to you. I am not your blood, nor am I even Papa's."

Was that was this was all about, he wondered to himself as he stared down at her with eyes of disbelief. She thought herself to no longer be important to him because he had now replaced her in his heart with a family of his own creation? Even in his weakened state, D'Artagnan was hurt that she would believe such a thing of him, trying to understand what it was that had first brought those thoughts to light.

"I was only a replacement, wasn't I?" she asked, her voice beginning to crack under the strain of her emotions. "You knew that Louis was your son, but you could never be his father when he was supposed to be the son of a king...so you used me to replace him, just like Uncle Athos has done for Raoul."

It was utterly heartbreaking to hear those words spoken from her, from someone that he had come to love so deeply. But he supposed that part of that feeling was his own fault, and he had to acknowledge the role that he played in hurting Katherine. The poor child did not know everything there was to know about herself, and therefore had grown up with holes missing from her story...holes that he had hoped to fill one day.

"Child, look at me." His voice was still soft as he nudged her chin with his fingers, catching her attention almost immediately for use of a word that he had not associated with her in many years. Her tear streaked face was quickly taken in his hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her warm cheek as Katherine tilted her head to lay it in his larger hand completely. At least he could take this as a good sign, he thought silently. "It is true, I had to watch Louis grow up believing himself to be another man's son," he began, wiping her tears away slowly. "And I never had the chance to know that Philippe existed until the night they tried to put him in Louis' place. But you must understand something very important. While I may not be your father, I still love you as if you were my own. You have brought me more pride over the twenty years of your life than I had ever dared hope I would feel when I looked upon Louis." The small closed-mouth smile that he was fond of wearing had appeared once again on his face as he looked down on her, his eyes shimmering in the light that filtered in through the window. But Katherine saw something else when she looked at him as well, and couldn't help but draw her head back a little in uncertainty. Were those tears?

"Aramis raised you as his daughter after you were delivered to the step of the monastery," he continued, retaining his gaze on her. "You may call me uncle, but I have _always_ looked upon you as my daughter. No matter what you may believe, you could never be replaced in my heart."

Blue met blue for a moment as Katherine stared straight ahead into her Uncle's eyes, watching the shift of emotion overtake him and a single tear begin to run from the corner of his eye. Being a man, and a captain of the musketeers no less, left no room for such things to be seen in the presence of other people when it could easily be taken for a sign of weakness. Were it anyone else who sat there with him, aside from perhaps his closest friends, he might not have just sat there and allowed it to happen. But he was there with Katherine, with someone who had been vulnerable her whole life because of her sex and yet refused to let anything force her into submission by intimidating her. Where there was someone who shivered from the cold, she was there with a blanket. When a person was bleeding from a fight and needed to be looked after, she was there to help clean their wounds. She had been raised with a heart of gold in his opinion, caring more for the safety of other people than she did for her own welfare, which had sometimes worried him when she was younger in case she reach out to help the wrong people.

Seeing the tear startled the girl a little as she looked up at her uncle, hardly daring to believe that he was showing such a vulnerable side of himself to her. But to know that he trusted her enough to allow his emotions to show through his tougher exterior touched her deeply and allowed her to reach out slowly to brush the tear away with a soft stroke of her fingers. Neither of them spoke a word as she did so, removing her fingers just as slowly as they had appeared before she murmured softly to him. "You should not be on the floor, you know. You might catch an awful chill down here."

Katherine pulled back from his hand and rose lightly to her feet, bending over to take a firm hold on one of his arms to tug him upward. He groaned despite himself as he moved, forcing his legs to push from beneath his body until Katherine was able to grab his other arm and plant herself firmly into the carpet. D'Artagnan leaned heavily into her body and gripped her arms tightly, pushing through grit teeth until he was in a standing position, breathing a little heavily from the effort. She couldn't help but smile a little.

"Now look at what you have done," she chastised with a teasing tone. "Philippe is going to be rather upset with me if you keep doing this. He would like to see you walking on your own accord for the ceremony."

Talk of the fake pageant that was to come was just what was needed to bring a deep rumbling chuckle to D'Artagnan's lips. "And if I cannot, then I know I can count on you to hold me upright."

"Being held up by a girl before the whole court?" she asked, shaking her head a little as she stepped into him and wrapped one arm around his lower back. "What would your men say?"

She couldn't help but notice the small grimace on his face when they began to move back toward the bed, glad that he would not need to try and lift his body back onto the mattress but simply allow himself to fall a little. Once at the edge, she again adjusted the hold that she had around him and flipped the side of the blankets away before she lowered him slowly onto the bed. "I am sure they would all be rather jealous," he said simply as he turned himself around to lay lengthwise and rest back against the pillows. "I would have the most beautiful young woman in the room on my arm at all times."

Again she felt her cheeks begin to burn a little at his words, much in the way that they had earlier when Porthos had spoken to her about the way that Philippe was sure to have noticed her. Why on earth they had all begun speaking to her like that was lost on Katherine, who pulled the blankets back over D'Artagnan's body and tucked them tightly around his legs to prevent any cold chills from reaching him.

"Now you are just speaking nonsense," the girl told him, crossing the room to close the windows. "There is no reason for anyone to pay any mind to me at all."

As his eyes followed her form, watching as she drew the curtains before the window and went to stoke the fire up again, D'Artagnan couldn't help but wish that she might once see herself through the eyes of someone else. Even he had come to notice the looks that men had begun to give Katherine as she walked by, staring to the point of being wide eyed and looking absolutely foolish in the streets when she moved about the market. They often pointed and whispered to themselves, noting that she would come from the monastery to purchase some necessities before she went back inside to her quiet life of being surrounded by priests and prayer, commenting on what a shame it was that she lived inside those walls. Their first moments in the palace were ones that D'Artagnan remembered despite the pain he was in, noting how Philippe's eye had looked upon his niece with a gentle admiration when he had seen just how earnestly she tended to him.

"But they will," he promised quietly, in a voice meant just for himself. "They will."

With her smaller tasks now complete, Katherine made her way back over to the bed and sat lightly on the edge of it, facing her uncle but dropping her head a little with guilt ridden eyes. "I am sorry for the trouble I caused you," she murmured softly, daring to lift her eyes only a little. "But when I stand in the same room as Philippe and the Queen, I cannot help but feel invisible and insignificant, even to you."

After a moment, he nodded in understanding. "In a place such a this," he began, gesturing to the room in which they sat. "I think it is quite easy for someone to feel that way."

It wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, and he knew it almost immediately when he saw the look that crossed her face when she yet again turned her head away to avoid his gaze. D'Artagnan sighed softly and moved to adjust his placement on the bed before he lightly patted the space he had created for her. Katherine waited long enough to kick off her shoes before she curled up on the mattress beside him, allowing her head to lay gently against his chest. "I confess that I do not fully understand what has made you so sad," D'Artagnan said, laying his left arm across his body to hold her a little closer while his right hand stroked her hair. "Whatever it is, I know that I am part of the cause, and for that I am sorry. I only wish to see you happy."

The girl sighed softly, closing her eyes against the soothing feeling of his hand on her hair. "But I do not know what would make me happy," she murmured. "Sometimes I think I would be happy back in the monastery with Papa. Sometimes I want nothing more than to be a musketeer and always at your side. And then I see how the Queen looks at you." D'Artagnan stopped for a moment and looked down at Katherine, curious to know what it was that she had seen when Anne had come into his room so quickly the other night. "And all I want is for someone to look on me like that, with love so deep that it could fill a whole room in an instant."

He couldn't help but smile to himself at the thought, knowing just how his heart would leap when he passed her in the corridors during his years of service as a musketeer. How he had caught her eye, he would probably never know, but now he could not imagine his life without her presence. Even if they were still forced to play their parts before the world he knew in his heart that she would forever remain there, and he in her's.

"I can only hope that one day you might discover that kind of love," he said, leaning his head down to gently kiss the top of her head before he resumed his movements against her hair. "You are an extraordinary young woman, _ma petite_. It will take an extraordinary man to be worthy of you."

He looked down at her again, expecting her to respond in her typical fashion of disbelief when he smiled. Somewhere in their brief conversation, Katherine had fallen asleep against his chest, her breathing even as she cuddled toward the warmth of his body. The last time she had fallen asleep in such a way she had been a young child, exhausted from hours of riding, running and playing. He could still remember the day that they had shared, a picnic by the edge of the river meant to amuse a girl who had grown too restless for anyone else to handle that day when D'Artagnan had stopped by the monastery to see Aramis. She'd looked just as peaceful then, he thought to himself, but now she was no longer that tiny child he could pick up and carry around without issue, at least not in his present condition. Part of him refused to think that she had grown too much for him to carry if needed. But as the night began to settle in, he decided not to wake her, though he couldn't help but frown a little when he noted how warm her skin felt under his touch. Perhaps it was nothing though, for the room itself was kept rather warm for his own benefit while he healed. As he shrugged away the concern he felt, D'Artagnan reached across the bed and pulled the corner of the blanket over until it covered the both of them, gently pressing a kiss to her temple before resting back on his pillows and closing his own eyes.

"Good night, _ma petite._"


End file.
